B. 


PARIS 

As  Seen  and  Described 
by  Famous  Writers 


Edited  and  Translated  by 

ESTHER    SINGLETON 

Author    of    "Turrets,     Towers    and    Temples," 

<' Great  Pictures,"   and   "A  Guide  to  the 

Opera,"  and  translator  of''  The  Music 

Dramas  of  Richard  Wagner. ' ' 


WITH   NUMEROUS   ILLUSTRATIONS 

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Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 
1900 


])C  77  / 


Copyright,  1900 

by 

DoDD,  Mead  &  Company 

GIFT  OF  ^ 


Braunworth,  Munn  6f  Barber 

Printers  and   Binders 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


PREFACE 

IN  the  following  pages  I  have  endeavoured  to  apply  the 
general  plan  of  my  former  books  on  art  and  architec- 
ture. In  this  volume,  however,  it  was  not  advisable, 
even  if  possible,  to  confine  myself  to  the  picturesque  and 
artistic  features  of  the  subject.  I  have  tried  to  produce  a 
work  that  will  fulfill  the  purposes  of  an  artistic  guide-book. 
I  have  selected  most  of  the  important  buildings  and  monu- 
ments of  Paris  and  have  chosen  the  most  interesting  de- 
scriptions that  I  could  find  by  various  authors,  English  and 
French,  who  love  and  admire  the  objects  of  which  they 
write. 

In  making  these  selections  I  have  tried  to  include  as  many 
varieties  of  treatment  as  possible,  and,  therefore,  there  will 
be  found  the  views  of  the  professional  art-critic,  the  casual 
literary  voyageur^  the  native  litterateur^  and  the  social  mor- 
alist. The  views  of  Theodore  de  Banville,  Victor  Hugo, 
Prosper  Merimee,  Louis  Blanc,  Louis  Enault,  Arsene  Hous- 
saye,  and  Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton  present  us  with  fine 
contrasts  and  side-lights ;  and  by  gathering  these  together, 
I  hope  to  give  a  picture  of  Paris  which  will  be,  in  a  meas- 
ure, complete. 

I  have  not  altogether  neglected  the  past,  and  in  one  case 
have  devoted  an  important  extract  entirely  to  ancient  days  j 
but,  as  a  rule,  I  have  chosen  articles  in  which  the  writer 

V 

ivi95606 


vi  PREFACE 

deals  sympathetically  with  the  reminiscences  of  the  past  in 
connection  with  the  monument  under  notice. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  group  the  articles  systematically 
so  that  the  reader  may  not  have  to  jump  from  one  side  of 
Paris  to  another;  the  monuments  on  the  left  and  right 
bank  are  kept  apart  with  exception  of  the  Trocadero  which 
at  the  present  day  naturally  follows  a  description  of  the 
Champ  de  Mars. 

In  addition  to  the  buildings  and  streets,  I  have  included 
a  few  extracts  dealing  with  the  social  and  picturesque  side 
of  Parisian  life.  Of  this  general  matter  The  Street  and 
The  Cafe  are  examples,  while  The  ^uartier  Latin  and  La 
Bourse  combine  pure  description  with  psychologic  treat- 
ment. 

With  the  limited  space  at  my  disposal  in  a  volume  of 
this  nature,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  treat  the  city  ex- 
haustively, and  this  is  my  excuse  for  the  omissions  which 
the  reader  may,  perchance,  find  of  a  favourite  haunt  or 
edifice. 

I  also  hope  that  the  maps,  drawn  especially  for  this  book, 
will  be  interesting  companions  to  the  text,  as  in  them  little 
is  indicated  but  the  special  features  described  in  the  ex- 
tracts. Space  has  also  forced  me  to  cut  occasionally,  but 
I  have  taken  no  liberties  with  the  text. 

New   Tork,  May,  igoo.  E.  S. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

LA  CITE 3-100 

Old  Paris 3 

Fictor  Hugo 

Saint-Denis  and  Sainte-Genevieve       .  .  .  •  •23 

Grant  Allen 

Old  Paris 26 

Louis  Blanc 

Along  the  Seine       ...•••••     34 
Louis  Enault 

Sainte-Chapelle 59 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 

Cathedral  of  Notre-Dame 65 

Victor  Hugo 

A  Bird's  Eye  View  of  Paris 74 

Victor  Hugo 

A  Glance  at  Paris 97 

Honor'e  de  Balzac 


THE  LEFT  BANK 103-216 

Flowers  in  Paris       .  .  •  •  •  •  •  •    103 

Alphonse  Karr 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

Reverie 113 

George  Sand 

)^    Le  Jardin  des  Plantes         .  .  .  .  .  .  .121 

Louis  Enault 

The  Catacombs       .  .  .  .  .         .         .  -123 

Neil  Wynn  Williams 

Saint-^fitienne  du  Mont 132 

5.  Sophia  Beak 

-^  The  (Juartier  Latin •         .         .137 

Theodore  de  Banville 

Hotel  de  Cluny 148 

Prosper  Merim'ee 

^  La  Sorbonne  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         •   ^55 

S.  Sophia  Beale 

Saint-Severin i57 

5.  Sophia  Beale 

The  Pantheon 162 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 

-.     The  Luxembourg     .  .  .  .  •         •         •  .169 

Louis  Enault 

"T-  Saint- Germain  des  Pres 176 

S.  Sophia  Beale 

Saint-Sulpice  .  .  .  .  .  •  .         .  .182 

S.  Sophia  Beale 

Les  Invalides  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .187 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 

Hotel  des  Invalides  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .191 

V.  de  Szvarte 


CONTENTS 


IX 


The  Institute  . 
Champ  de  Mars 


Ernest  Ren  an 


G.  Lenotre 


Sunrise  and  Sunset  from  the  Trocadero 
i.mile  Zola 


•  195 
.  207 
.    212 


THE  RIGHT  BANK  . 


217-397 


La  Ville 

Theodore  de  Banville 

.   219 

Les  Boulevards 

Louis  Enault 

.   226 

Pere  Lachaise  . 

Richard  Whiteing 

•   239 

La  Place  Royale 

Jules  Claretie 

.   241 

Hotel  de  Sens 

A.  J.  C.  Hare 

.   250 

Hotel  de  Ville 

Paul  Strauss 

.   253 

Hotel  Barbette 

idouard  Fournier 

.          .   258 

Musee  Carnavalet    . 

Edouard  Fournier 

.   263 

La  Tour  Saint-Jacque 

>      .          .          .          •          • 

S.  Sophia  Be  ale 

.   266 

X  CONTENTS 

La  Bourse       .......••   268 

Gabriel  Mourey 

Saint-Germain  I'Auxerrois  .  .  .  .  .         .281 

S.  Sophia  Beak 

The  Cafe 289 

Theodore  de  Banville 

The  Louvre    .........  296 

Charles  Dickens ,  Jr. 

Palace  du  Carrousel  .         .         .         .         .         .         .300 

Marquis  de  Montereau 

The  Palais- Royale 306 

H.  Monin 

La  Madeleine 311 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 

La  Madeleine 3H 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

Boulevard  des  Italiens       .         .         .         .         .         •         -3^5 
Honor'e  de  Balzac 

The  Boulevards 3^7 

Richard  Whiteing 

The  Opera  House  .  .  .  .         .  .  .  '318 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton 

Conservatoire  de  Musique  .  .  .  .  .  -323 

Albert  Lavignac 

Bibliotheque  Nationale      .  .  .  .  .         .         -334 

Charles  Dickens,  Jr. 

Bibliotheque  Nationale      .  .  .  .  .         .  •   33^ 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 


CONTENTS  xi 

Les  Tuileries  ......•••  33^ 

Imbert  de  Saint- Amand 

Rue  de  Rivoli 347 

Max  de  Revel 

The  Street 35 » 

Theodore  de  Banville 

Place  de  la  Concorde        .  .  .  •  *         •  -359 

Richard  Whiteing 

Place  de  la  Concorde        .  .  .  •  .         •  -361 

Theophik  Gautier 

The  %see 3^3 

Arshie  Houssaye 

Arc  de  Triomphe  and  Champs- filysees        .         .  .         -378 

idouard  Fourfiier 

The  Bois  de  Boulogne 3^5 

Arshie  Houssaye 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  Seine  and  Cite 

Maison  Henri  IV. 

He  de  la  Cite,  (map) 

The  Conciergerie  and  the  Pont  au  Change, 

The  Institute  and  the  Pont  des  Arts 

Sainte-Chapelle     . 

Notre-Dame 

Flower  Market 

The  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries. 

From  Bercy  to  Notre-Dame,  (map) 

Saint-Etienne  du  Mont  . 

From  Saint- fitienne  to  I'lnstitut,  (map) 

Musee  de  Cluny  . 

The  Sorbonne 

The  Pantheon 

The  Luxembourg . 

Saint-Germain  des  Pres . 

Saint-Sulpice 

The  Invalides 

Hotel  des  Invalides 

From  I'lnstitut  to  Fortifications,  (map) 

The  Trocadero 

From  Bercy  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  (map) 

Porte  Saint-Martin 

Colonne  de  Juillet 

Porte  Saint-Denis . 

Pere  Lachaise 

From  Hotel  de  Ville  to  Louvre,  (map) 

xiii 


Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

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t{                   (( 

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((                   <t 

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<<                   (< 

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<<                   (< 

121 

<(                   t( 

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<<                   << 

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<<                   <( 

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<(                    <( 

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<C                   << 

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ft               tc 

169 

te             <( 

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<(             (( 

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<(             <( 

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212 

ft             ft 

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ft             ft 

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XIV 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Hotel  de  Sens 

. 

Facing  Page 

250 

Hotel  de  Ville      . 

. 

253 

Tour  Saint-Jacques 

. 

266 

The  Bourse 

. 

268 

Saint-Germain  I'Auxerrois 

. 

281 

The  Louvre 

. 

296 

Arc  du  Carrousel . 

. 

300 

Palais  Royal 

. 

306 

The  Madeleine     . 

. 

311 

Boulevard  des  Italiens    . 

. 

315 

The  Opera  House 

. 

318 

Saint-Germain    TAuxerrois    t 

0    Champs- 

Elysees,  (map) 

323 

The  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries 

. 

336 

Rue  de  Rivoli 

, 

348 

Colonne  Vendome 

. 

349 

Saint-Eustache 

. 

353 

Place  de  la  Concorde     . 

. 

359 

From  Place   de   la  Concorde 

to  Bois 

de 

Boulogne,  (map)   . 

. 

361 

Arc  de  Triomphe 

. 

378 

Bois  de  Boulogne  . 

. 

385 

Bois  de  Boulogne . 

• 

390 

La   Cite 


OLD  PARIS 

VICTOR  HUGO       ,  .         ,  . 

THE  history  of  Paris,  if  we  clear  it  away  as  we 
should  clear  away  Herculaneum,  forces  us  con- 
stantly to  begin  the  work  again.  It  has  beds  of 
alluvion,  alveolas  of  clay,  and  spirals  of  labyrinth.  To 
dissect  this  ruin  to  the  bottom  seems  impossible.  One  cave 
cleaned  out  reveals  another  stopped  up.  Below  the  ground 
floor  there  is  a  crypt ;  below  the  crypt,  a  cavern  ;  below  the 
cavern,  a  sepulchre  ;  and  below  the  sepulchre,  a  gulf.  The 
gulf  is  the  Celtic  unknown.  To  ransack  everything  is 
difficult.  Gilles  Corrozet  has  tried  it  with  legend,  Malingre 
and  Pierre  Bonfons  with  tradition,  Du  Breul,  Germain  Brice, 
Sauval,  Bequillet,  and  Piganiol  de  la  Force  with  erudition, 
Hurtaut  and  Marigny  with  method,  Jalloit  with  criticism, 
Felibien  and  Leboeuf  with  orthodoxy,  Dulaure  with  philoso- 
phy :  each  of  them  has  broken  his  tool  there. 

Take  the  plans  of  Paris  at  its  various  ages.  Superimpose 
them  upon  one  another  concentrically  to  Notre-Dame. 
Regard  the  Fifteenth  Century  in  the  plan  of  Saint-Victor, 
the  Sixteenth  in  the  plan  of  tapestry,  the  Seventeenth  in 
the  plan  of  Bullet,  the  Eighteenth  in  the  plans  of  Gom- 
boust,  Roussel,  Denis  Thierry,  Lagrive,  Bretez,  and  Verni- 
quet,  the  Nineteenth  in  the  plan  of  to-day,  and  the  magni- 
fying effect  is  terrible. 

3 


4  PARIS 

You  think  you  see  the  approach  of  a  star  growing  larger 
at  the  end  of  a  telescope. 
•;  i,  .'He. .who.'foplqs  into  the  depths  of  Paris  gets  the  vertigo. 
Nothing,  is  more  fantastic,  nothing  is  more  tragic,  nothing 
is' ;  m.c^re' ;  superb'.' ',  For  Caesar  it  was  a  vectigal  city  ;  for 
Julian  a  country-house  ;  for  Charlemagne  a  school,  whither 
he  called  doctors  from  Germany  and  chanters  from  Italy, 
and  which  Pope  Leo  III.  termed  So7'or  bona  {Sorbotuie^  let  it 
not  displease  Robert  Sorbonne) ;  for  Hughes  Capet,  a 
family  place ;  for  Louis  VI.,  a  port  with  tolls ;  for  Philippe 
Auguste,  a  fortress  ;  for  Saint  Louis,  a  chapel ;  for  Louis  le 
Hutin,  a  gibbet;  for  Charles  V.,  a  library;  for  Louis  XL, 
a  printing-press;  for  Francois  I.,  a  cabaret;  for  Richelieu, 
an  academy ;  for  Louis  XIV.,  Paris  is  the  place  of  beds-of- 
justice  and  chamhres  ardents ;  and  for  Bonaparte,  the  great 
cross-roads  of  war.  The  beginning  of  Paris  is  contiguous 
to  the  decline  of  Rome.  The  marble  statue  of  a  Latin 
lady  who  died  at  Lutetia,  as  Julia  Alpinula  died  at 
Avenches,  has  slept  for  twenty  centuries  in  the  old  soil  of 
Paris;  it  was  found  whilst  excavating  the  Rue  Montholon. 
Paris  is  called  "  the  City  of  Julius,"  by  Boece,  a  man  of 
consular  rank  who  died  of  a  cord  tied  around  his  head  by 
the  executioner  till  his  eyes  started  out.  Tiberius,  so  to 
speak,  laid  the  first  stone  of  Notre-Dame;  it  was  he  who 
found  that  place  good  for  a  temple  and  who  there  erected 
an  altar  to  the  god  Cerennos  and  to  the  bull  Esus.  On 
the  mount  of  Sainte-Genevieve,  Mercury  was  worshipped; 
in   the   He   Louviers,   Isis;    in    the   Rue   de   la   Barillerie, 


OLD  PARIS  5 

Apollo ;  and  where  the  Tuileries  are  now,  Caracalla.  Car- 
acalla  is  that  emperor  who  made  a  god  of  his  brother,  Geta, 
with  blows  of  a  poniard,  saying  :  Divus  sit,  dum  non  vivus. 
The  water-sellers,  who  were  called  nautes,  preceded  the 
Samaritaine  by  fifteen  hundred  years.  There  was  an 
Etruscan  pottery  in  the  Rue  Saint-Jean  de  Beauvais ;  a 
gladiator  arena  in  the  Rue  Fosses-Saint-Victor;  at  the 
Thermes,  an  aqueduct  coming  from  Rongis  via  Arcueil; 
and,  at  the  Rue  Saint-Jacques,  a  Roman  road  with  branches 
to  Ivry,  Crenelle,  Sevres  and  Mount  Cetard.  Egypt  is  not 
represented  in  Lutetia  by  Isis  alone ;  for  tradition  has  it 
that  there  was  found  alive  in  a  mass  of  Seine  alluvion  a 
crocodile,  the  mummy  of  which  was  still  to  be  seen  in  the 
Sixteenth  Century  attached  to  the  ceiling  of  the  great  hall 
of  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

Around  Saint-Landry  crossed  the  network  of  the  Roman 
streets  in  which  circulated  the  coins  of  Richiaire,  king  of 
the  Suevi,  stamped  with  the  effigy  of  Honorius.  The 
Quai  des  Morfondus  covers  the  mud-bank  on  which  the 
bare  feet  of  Clotaire,  King  of  France,  left  their  impress, 
the  king  who  dwelt  in  a  log  castle  cloison'ee  with  ox-hides, 
some  of  which,  freshly-flayed,  imitated  the  purple.  Where 
is  now  the  Rue  Guenegaud,  Herchinaldus,  Mayor  of 
Normandy,  and  Flaochat,  Mayor  of  Burgundy  conferred 
with  Sigebert  II, ,  who  wore  affixed  to  his  cap,  like  a  savage 
king  of  to-day,  two  pieces  of  money  :  a  quinarius  of  the 
Vandals  and  a  golden  triens  of  the  Visigoths.  At  the  head 
of  Saint-Jean-le-Rond  a  slab  was  set  displaying  the  capita- 


6  PARIS 

lary  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  engraved  in  Latin  :  "  Let  the 
suspected  thief  be  seized :  if  he  is  a  noble,  let  him  be 
judged  ;  if  he  is  a  villain,  let  him  be  hanged  on  the  spot. 
Loco  pendatur.^'  Where  the  Archbishop's  residence  is, 
there  was  a  stone  set  up  in  memory  of  the  putting  to  death 
of  the  nine  thousand  Bulgarian  families  who  had  fled  to 
Bavaria  in  631.  On  a  heath,  where  the  Bourse  now 
stands,  the  heralds  proclaimed  the  war  between  Louis  le 
Gros  and  the  house  of  Coucy.  Louis  le  Gros,  who  gave 
an  asylum  in  France  to  five  banished  Popes,  Urbain  IL,  Pas- 
chal IL,  Gelasius  IL,  Calixtus  II. ,  and  Innocent  II. ,  had 
just  issued  victorious  from  his  war  against  the  Baron  de 
Montmorency  and  the  Baron  de  Puiset.  In  a  Roman 
Crypt,  that  existed  almost  on  the  spot  where  was  built  the 
hall  called  Rue  de  Paris  in  the  Palais  de  Justice,  the  first 
organ  known  in  Europe  was  brought  from  Compiegne  ;  it 
was  a  gift  from  Constantine  Copronymus  to  Pepin  le  Bref 
and  its  noise  made  a  woman  die  of  shock.  The  caborsins, 
to-day  we  should  say  the  foundation-scholars,  were  beaten 
with  rods  before  the  column  of  the  hall  Septe?nsunt^  dedi- 
cated to  Pythagoras  the  musician  ;  this  name  Septem  was 
justified  by  six  other  names  written  on  the  reverse  of  the 
column :  Ptolemy  the  astronomer,  Plato  the  theologian, 
Euclid  the  geometrician,  Archimedes  the  mechanician, 
Aristotle  the  philosopher,  and  Nicomachus  the  arithmeti- 
cian. It  was  in  Paris  that  civilization  germinated ;  that 
Oribasus  of  Pergamos,  questor  of  Constantinople,  abridged 
and  explained   Gallien  ;  that  were    founded  the  mercantile 


OLD  PARIS  7 

hanse,  imitated  in  Germany,  and  the  legal  fraternity  im- 
itated in  England ;  that  Louis  IX.  built  churches,  Saint 
Catherine  among  others,  "  at  the  prayer  of  the  sergeants  at 
arms  "  ;  that  the  assembly  of  barons  and  bishops  became  a 
parliament;  and  that  Charlemagne  in  his  capitulary-  con- 
cerning Saint-Germain-de-Pres  forbade  ecclesiastics  to  kill 
men.  Here  came  Celestin  II.  to  the  school  under  Pierre 
Lombard.  The  student  Dante  x\lighieri  lodged  in  the  Rue 
du  Fouarre.  Abelard  met  Heloise  in  the  Rue  Basse-des- 
Ursins.  The  Emperors  of  Germany  hated  Paris  like  a 
"  brand  of  evil  fire."  Otho  II.,  that  butcher  who  was 
called  "the  Pale  Death  of  the  Saracens,"  Pallida  mors 
Sarracenorum^  struck  a  blow  with  his  lance  upon  one  of  the 
gates  of  the  city,  the  mark  of  which  it  long  retained. 
Another  enemy,  the  King  of  England,  encamped  at 
Vaugirard. 

Between  the  war  and  the  famine  Paris  increased. 
Charles  le  Chauve  gave  to  the  Normans  who  had  burned  the 
churches  of  Sainte-Genevieve  and  Saint-Pierre,  as  well  as 
half  the  Cite,  seven  thousand  silver  livres  to  ransom  the 
remainder.  Paris  has  been  the  Raft  of  the  Medusa  ;  the 
agonies  of  famine  have  been  there;  in  975,  lots  were 
drawn  as  to  who  should  be  eaten.  The  abbe  of  Saint- 
Germain-de-Pres  and  the  abbe  of  Saint-Manin-des-Champs, 
fortified  in  their  monasteries,  attacked  each  other  and  fought 
in  the  streets  ;  for  the  right  of  private  war  existed  until  1257. 
In  1255  Saint-Louis  established  the  Inquisition  in  France ; 
a    venomous    acclimatization !     From    that  moment  there 


8  PARIS 

were  innumerable   persecutions  in   Paris:  in    1255  against 
the  bankers;    in    131 1,  against  the   b'eguards^  the  heretics, 
and  the  Lombards;  in   1323,  against  the  Franciscans  and 
the  magicians;  in  1372,  against  the  turliipins  ;  then  against 
the  swearers,  pat'erins  and  the  reformers.     Revolts  were  the 
reply.       The     scholars,    the    Jacques^    the    ?naillotins^    the 
cabochiens^  the   tuchins  sketched   this  resistance  which  later 
the  priests  are  to  copy  in  the  Ligue  and  the  princes  in  the 
Fronde;    in    1588,  the   first  barricade  will  come,  and  the 
people   to  whom    Philippe  Auguste   gave   that   stone  tiling 
called  the  paving  of  Paris  will  learn  the  way  to  make  use 
of  it.     With  the  revolts,  executions  are  multiplied  ;  and, 
all  honour  to  letters  and  to  science,  through  this  pell-mell  of 
charnel-houses  and  gibbets,  germinate  and  grow  the  col- 
leges   of  Lisieux,    Bourgogne,   les    Ecossais,   Marmoutier, 
Chancer,  Hubant,  I'Ave-Maria,  Mignon,  Autun,  Cambrai, 
Maitre     Clement,    Cardinal    Lemoine,    de    Thou,    Reims, 
Coquerel,  de  la  Marche,  Seez,  le  Mans,  Boissy,  la  Merci, 
Clermont,  les  Grassins  (whence  will  come  Boilieu)  Louis- 
le-Grand  (whence  will   come  Voltaire) ;    and,  side  by  side 
with   colleges,  the   hospitals,   terrible   asylums,  species   of 
circuses  where  pestilences  devour  mankind.    The  variety  of 
these   pestilences,   born   of  the   variety  of  filth,  is  incon- 
ceivable;  there  is  the  "sacred  fire,"  there  is  the  Floren- 
tine, there  is  the  burning  sickness ;  there  is  the  sickness  of 
hell,  there   is   the  black  fever;   they  produce  idiocy;  they 
even  attack  kings,  and  Charles  VI.  falls  into  the  "  chaude 
maladie.'"     The  taxes  were  so  excessive  that  people  tried  to 


OLD  PARIS  9 

become  leprous  to  avoid  paying  them.  Thence  arises  the 
synonym  between  the  leper  and  the  miser.  Go  into  that 
record,  descend  into  it  and  wander  there.  Everything  in 
this  city,  so  long  in  the  pangs  of  revolution,  has  a  meaning. 
The  first  house  we  come  across  has  long  known  it.  The 
sub-soil  of  Paris  is  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods  ;  it  conceals 
history.  If  the  streams  of  the  streets  were  to  come  to 
confession,  what  things  they  could  tell !  Have  the  heap  of 
the  filth  of  the  centuries  turned  over  by  the  rag-picker 
Chodruc-Duclos  at  the  corner  of  the  bounds  of  Ravaillac ! 
However  troubled  and  thick  history  may  be,  it  has  trans- 
parencies ;  examine  them ;  all  that  is  dead  in  fact  is  alive 
as  enlightenment.  And  above  all  do  not  pick  and  choose. 
Contemplate  at  random. 

Beneath  the  present  Paris,  the  ancient  Paris  is  distinct, 
like  the  old  text  in  the  interlineations  of  the  new.  Take 
away  the  statue  of  Henri  IV.  from  the  point  of  the  Cite 
and  you  will  see  the  pyre  of  Jacques  Molay.  It  was  on  the 
square  of  the  Chateau  des  Porcherons,  before  the  Hotel 
Coq,  in  presence  of  the  oriflamme  displayed  by  the  Comte 
de  Vexin,  owned  by  the  Abbaye  de  Saint-Denis,  that,  on 
the  proclamation  of  the  six  bishop-peers  of  France,  Jean 
I.,  immediately  after  his  consecration,  which  took  place  on 
the  24th  of  September,  and  the  execution  of  the  Comte  de 
Guines,  which  took  place  on  the  24th  of  November,  was 
surnamed  the  Good.  At  the  Hotel  Saint-Pol,  Isabella  of 
Bavaria  ate  aigrun,  that  is  to  say  Corbeil  onions,  Etampes 
^'' eschaloignes"    and    Grandeluz    cloves    of    garlic,    while 


lo  PARIS 

laughing  with  a  certain  English  prince  as  to  the  paternity 
of  her  husband  Charles  VI.  toward  her  son  Charles  VII. 
It  was  the  Pont-au-Change  upon  which  was  cried,  August 
23d,  1553,  the  edict  of  the  parliament.  It  was  in  the  low 
hall  of  the  Chatelet  that  under  Francois  I.,  father  of  let- 
ters, relapsed  printers  received  the  question  of  sixteen 
nicks.  It  was  the  Rue-du-Pas-de-la-Mule  through  which 
passed  every  day  in  1560  the  first  president  of  the  parlia- 
ment of  Paris,  Gilles  le  Maistre,  mounted  on  a  mule  and 
followed  by  his  wife  in  a  charrette,  and  her  servant  on  a 
she  ass,  going  to  see  the  people  whom  he  had  judged  in  the 
morning  hanged  in  the  evening.  In  the  Tour  de  Mont- 
gomery, not  far  from  the  lodge  of  the  keeper  of  the  Palais, 
who  was  entitled  to  two  fowls  a  day  and  the  cinders  and 
brands  from  the  king's  fireplace,  was  dug  below  the  level 
of  the  Seine  that  cell  named  la  Souriciere  because  of  the 
mice  which  devoured  the  still-living  prisoners  there.  At 
the  crossing  of  the  streets  called  la  Trahoir  on  account  of 
Brunehaut,  who,  it  is  said,  was  dragged  at  the  tail  of  a 
horse  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  and  later  I'Arbre-Sec  on 
account  of  a  dry  tree,  that  is  to  say  a  gibbet,  which  stood 
there  permanently,  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows,  at  a  iew 
paces  from  a  scavenger's  where  were  held  the  gayest  noble 
orgies  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  flower-girls  offered  flowers 
and  fruits  to  the  passers-by  with  the  song : 

"  Fleur  d'  aiglaniier, 
Verjttx  a  /aire  aillie." 

At  the  Port  Saint-Honore,  the  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  who 


OLD  PARIS  11 

was  an  early  type  of  Charles  X.,  and  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
went  out  walking  for  the  first  time  with  guards,  the  news 
of  which  suddenly  whitened  half  of  the  moustache  of  the 
King  of  Navarre.  It  was  on  going  out  to  pay  his  devo- 
tions at  Sainte-Marie-l'-Egyptienne  that  Henri  III.  drew 
from  beneath  his  little  dogs,  that  hung  from  his  neck  in  a 
round  basket,  the  edict  that  he  handed  to  the  chancellor 
Chiverny,  and  which  took  back  from  the  citizens  of  Paris 
the  nobility  which  had  been  granted  to  them  by  Charles  V. 
It  was  in  front  of  the  fountain  of  Saint-Paul  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Antoine  that,  at  the  obsequies  of  Cardinal  de  Birague, 
the  court  of  aides  and  the  chamber  of  accounts  came  to 
blows  on  the  question  of  precedence.  In  this  place  was 
the  great  hall  in  which  sat  "  la  magistrature  fran^aise"  with 
long  beards  in  the  Sixteenth  Century  and  big  wigs  in  the 
Seventeenth ;  and  here  is  the  wicket  of  the  Louvre  whence 
issued  very  early  in  the  morning  the  black  or  gray  muske- 
teers who,  from  time  to  time,  came  to  bring  these  beards 
and  these  wigs  to  reason.  We  know  that  they  were  some- 
times refractory.  For  example,  in  1644,  the  opposition  of 
the  parliament  went  so  far  as  to  consent  to  the  increase  of 
the  loan,  called  forced,  for  the  whole  of  France,  with  the 
exception  of  the  parliament.  A  certain  acceptance  of 
thieves  and  night-birds  has  long  been  characteristic  of  the 
streets  of  Paris ;  before  Louis  XL  there  were  no  police ; 
before  La  Reynie,  no  lanterns.  In  1667,  the  Cour  des  Mir- 
acles, still  possessing  all  its  Gothic  trifles,  formed  a  vis-a-vis 
to  the  carrousels  of  Louis  XIV.     This  old  Parisian  ground 


12  PARIS 

is  a  fruitful  quarry  of  events,  manners,  laws,  and  customs ; 
everything  in  it  is  ore  for  the  philosopher.  Come,  look ! 
This  emplacement  vi^as  the  Marche  aux  Pourceaux  ;  there, 
in  an  iron  vat,  in  the  name  of  those  princes  who  among 
other  skillful  monetary  ways  invented  the  tournois  fioir^  and 
who  in  the  Fourteenth  Century,  in  the  space  of  fifty  years, 
seven  times  in  succession,  found  the  means  of  applying  the 
clippings  of  a  bankrupt  to  the  public  fortune  (a  royal  phe- 
nomenon repeated  under  Louis  XV.)  in  the  name  of  Philippe 
I.,  who  declared  the  various  kinds  of  base  coin  money,  in 
the  name  of  Louis  VL  and  Louis  VIL,  who  compelled  all 
the  French  with  the  exception  of  the  citizens  of  Com- 
piegne  to  take  sous  for  livres,  in  the  name  of  Philippe  le 
Bel,  who  fabricated  those  angevins  of  doubtful  gold  called 
"  sheep  with  the  long  wool "  and  "  sheep  with  the  short 
wool,"  in  the  name  of  Philippe  de  Valois,  who  altered  the 
Georges  florin,  in  the  name  of  King  Jean,  who  raised  cir- 
cles of  leather,  having  a  silver  nail  in  the  centre,  to  the 
dignity  of  gold  ducats,  in  the  name  of  Charles  VIL,  gilder 
and  silverer  of  Hards,  which  he  termed  saluts  d'or  and 
blancs  d' argent,  in  the  name  of  Louis  XIL,  who  decreed 
that  the  hardh  of  one  denier  were  worth  three,  in  the  name 
of  Henri  II.,  who  made  golden  henrh  of  lead,  during  five 
centuries,  false  coiniers  have  been  boiled  alive. 

In  the  centre  of  what  was  then  called  the  Ville  as  dis- 
tinct from  the  Cite,  is  the  Maubuee  (bad  smoke),  the  place 
where  were  burned  in  the  tar  and  green  faggots  so  many 
Jews    to    punish    "their    anthropomancy "    and,   says    the 


OLD  PARIS  13 

Councillor  De  I'Ancre,  for  "  the  admirable  cruelty  which 
they  have  always  employed  towards  Christians,  their  form 
of  life,  their  synagogue  displeasing  to  God,  their  unclean- 
ness  and  stench."  A  little  to  one  side,  the  antiquarian 
comes  across  a  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Gros-Chenet,  where 
sorcerers  were  burned  before  a  gilded  and  painted  bas-relief, 
attributed  to  Nicholas  Flamel,  and  representing  the  flaming 
meteor,  as  big  as  a  mill-stone,  which  fell  upon  iEgos-Po- 
tamos,  the  night  on  which  Socrates  was  born,  and  which 
Diogenes  the  Apollonian,  the  lawgiver  of  Asia  Minor, 
calls  a  star  of  stone.  Then  that  cross-roads,  Baudet, 
where  to  the  sound  of  the  horn  and  trumpet,  as  Gaguin 
relates,  the  extermination  of  the  lepers  was  cried  and 
ordered  for  the  whole  kingdom,  on  account  of  the  mixture 
of  grass,  blood,  and  "human  water,"  rolled  up  in  a  rag 
and  tied  to  a  stone,  with  which  they  poisoned  the  cisterns 
and  rivers.  Other  cries  occurred.  Thus,  before  the 
Grand-Chatelet,  the  six  heralds-at-arms  of  France,  clothed 
in  white  velvet  under  their  dalmatics  decorated  with  Fleur- 
de-lis,  and  Caduceus  in  hand,  came,  after  plagues,  wars, 
and  famines,  to  reassure  the  people  and  to  announce  that 
the  king  condescended  to  continue  to  receive  the  taxes. 
At  the  northeast  extremity  of  this  place,  the  Place  Royale 
of  the  monarchy,  Place  des  Vosges  of  the  Republic,  was 
the  royal  close  of  the  Tournelles  in  which  Philippe  de  Corn- 
mines  shared  the  bed  of  Louis  XL,  which  somewhat  dis- 
turbs his  severe  profile  as  a  historian;  we  can  scarcely 
imagine  Tacitus  sleeping  with  Tiberius.     Philippe  de  Com- 


14  PARIS 

mines,  who  was  senkhal  of  Poitiers,  was  also  lord  of 
Chaillot  and  possessed  all  the  Cerisaie  up  to  the  ditch  of 
the  Paris  sewer,  seven  fiefs  arri'eres  held  from  the  Tour 
Carree,  then  justice  '■'■  moyenne  et  basse''  with  mayoralty  and 
sergeantry.  Happily  all  this  does  not  prevent  his  being 
one  of  the  ancestors  of  the  French  language. 

In  the  presence  of  this  history  of  Paris,  it  is  necessary  to 
cry  every  moment,  as  did  John  Howard  before  other  mis- 
eries :  "  It  is  here  that  the  small  facts  are  great.  Some- 
times this  history  offers  a  double  meaning,  sometimes  a 
triple  one,  sometimes  none  at  all.  It  is  then  that  it  dis- 
turbs the  mind.  It  seems  as  if  it  becomes  ironical.  It 
sets  in  relief  sometimes  a  crime,  sometimes  a  folly  j  at 
times  we  do  not  know  what  is  neither  a  folly  nor  a  crime 
and  yet  forms  part  of  the  night.  Amid  these  enigmas,  we 
fancy  behind  us,  in  an  aside,  the  low  laughter  of  the 
Sphynx.  Everywhere  we  find  contrasts  or  parallels  that 
resemble  design  in  the  chance.  At  No.  14  Rue  de  Bethisy, 
Coligny  died  and  Sophie  Arnould  was  born,  and  here  are 
brusquely  brought  together  the  two  characteristic  aspects 
of  the  past,  sanguinary  fanaticism  and  cynical  joviality. 
Les  Halles,  which  saw  the  birth  of  the  theatre  (under 
Louis  XI.)  saw  the  birth  of  Moliere.  The  year  in  which 
Turenne  died,  Madame  de  Maintenon  bloomed,  a  strange 
substitution;  it  is  Paris  that  gave  to  Versailles  Madame 
Scarron,  queen  of  France,  gentle  to  the  verge  of  treason, 
pious  to  the  verge  of  ferocity,  chaste  to  the  point  of  calcu- 
lation, and  virtuous  to  the  verge  of  vice.     In  the  Rue  des 


OLD  PARIS  15 

Marais,  Racine  wrote  Bajazet  and  Britannicus^  in  a  cham- 
ber to  which,  fifty  years  later,  the  Duchess  de  Bouillon, 
poisoning  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  came  in  her  turn  to  make 
a  tragedy.  At  No.  23  Rue  du  Petit-Lion,  in  an  elegant 
hotel  of  the  Renaissance  of  which  a  skirt  of  wall  remains, 
just  beside  that  big  tower  of  Saint-Gilles  or  Jean  Sans- 
Peur,  the  comedies  of  Marivaux  were  played.  Quite  close 
to  one  another,  opened  two  tragic  windows  :  from  one  of 
them  Charles  IX.  fired  on  the  Parisians,  from  the  other 
money  was  given  to  the  people  to  induce  them  not  to  fol- 
low the  interment  of  Moliere.  What  did  the  people  want 
with  dead  Moliere  ?  To  honour  him !  No,  to  insult 
him.  Some  money  was  distributed  to  this  mob  and  the 
hands  that  had  come  full  of  mud  went  away  paid.  O 
sombre  ransom  of  an  illustrious  coffin  !  It  is  in  our  own 
day  that  the  turret  has  been  demolished  at  the  window  of 
which  the  Dauphin  Charles,  trembling  before  irritated 
Paris,  put  on  his  head  the  scarlet  cap  of  Etienne  Marcel, 
three  hundred  and  thirty  years  before  Louis  XVI.  put  on 
the  red  cap.  The  arcade  Saint-Jean  saw  a  little  "  dix 
aout"  on  August  the  loth,  1652,  which  was  a  slight 
sketch  of  the  stage-setting  of  the  great  one ;  there  was  the 
ringing  of  the  great  bell  of  Notre-Dame  and  musketry ; 
this  was  called  the  emeute  des  tetes  de  papier.  It  was  again 
in  August,  the  canicule  is  anarchical,  it  was  August  the 
23d,  1658,  that  on  the  Quai  de  la  Vallee,  formerly  called 
the  Val-Misere,  the  battle  between  the  Augustine  monks 
and  the  police-officers  of  the  parliament  took  place ;  the 


i6  PARIS 

clergy  gladly  met  the  decrees  of  the  magistracy  with  volleys 
of  musketry;  they  called  justice  encroachment;  between 
the  convent  and  the  arches  there  was  a  great  exchange  of 
shots  which  made  La  Fontaine  come  running,  crying  on 
the  Pont-Neuf :  "  I  am  going  to  see  Augustines  killed  !  " 
Not  far  from  the  Fortet  college,  where  the  Sixteen  sat,  is 
the  cloister  of  the  Cordeliers  whence  Marat  rose  into 
notice.  The  Place  Vendome  served  Law,  before  serving 
Napoleon.  At  the  Hotel  Vendome,  there  was  a  little 
white  marble  chimney-piece  celebrated  for  the  quantity  of 
petitions  by  Huguenot  galley-slaves  which  were  thrown 
into  the  fire  by  Campistron,  who  was  Secretary-General  of 
the  galleys,  at  the  same  time  being  knight  of  Saint-Jacques 
and  commander  of  Ximines  in  Spain,  and  Marquis  de 
Penange  in  Italy,  dignities  that  were  entirely  due  to  the 
poet  who  had  moved  the  court  and  the  city  to  pity  over 
Tiridate  offering  resistance  to  the  marriage  between  Erinice 
with  Abradate.  From  the  lugubrious  Quai  de  la  Ferraille, 
which  has  seen  so  many  judicial  atrocities,  and  which  was 
also  the  Quai  des  Raccoleurs,  issued  all  those  joyous  mili- 
tary and  popular  types,  Laramee,  Laviolette,  Vadeboncoeur, 
and  that  Fanfan  la  Tulipe,  placed  in  our  day  on  the  stage 
with  such  charm  and  splendour  by  Paul  Meurice.  In  a 
garret  of  the  Louvre,  journalism  was  born  of  Theophraste 
Renaudot;  this  time  it  was  the  mouse  that  gave  birth  to  the 
mountain.  In  another  compartment  of  this  same  Louvre, 
the  Academic  Fran^aise  prospered :  it  has  never  had  a 
forty-first  chair  but  once,  for  Pelisson,  and  has  never  worn 


OLD  PARIS  17 

mourning  but  once,  for  Voiture.  A  slab  of  marble  with 
letters  of  gold,  set  in  one  of  the  corners  of  the  Rue  du 
Marche  des  Innocents,  has  long  directed  the  attention  of 
the  Parisians  to  those  three  glories  of  the  year  1685  :  the 
embassy  from  Siam,  the  Doge  of  Genoa  at  Versailles,  and 
the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  It  was  against  the 
wall  of  the  edifice  called  Val-de-Grace  that  the  Host  was 
thrown,  on  account  of  which  three  men  were  burned  alive. 
Date,  1685.  Six  years  later  Voltaire  was  to  be  born.  It 
was  quite  time. 

Forty  years  ago,  in  the  sacristy  of  Saint-Germain- 1 ' 
Auxerrois,  was  still  shown  the  crimson  chair,  bearing 
the  date  1722,  in  which  was  enthroned  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
bishop of  Cambrai  on  the  day  on  which  the  Sieur  Clignet, 
bailiff  of  the  Abbaye  de  Saint-Remy  de  Reims,  and  the 
Sieurs  de  Romaine,  de  Saint-Catherine  and  Godot,  Cheva- 
liers de  la  Sainte-Ampoule,  came  to  take  "  the  orders  of 
His  Eminence  on  the  matter  of  the  consecration  of  His 
Majesty."  The  eminence  was  Dubois,  the  Majesty  was 
Louis  XV.  The  storeroom  preserved  another  armchair, 
that  of  the  Regent  d'Orleans.  It  was  in  this  armchair  that 
the  Regent  d'Orleans  was  sitting  on  the  day  when  he  spoke 
to  the  Comte  de  Charolais.  M.  de  Charolais  was  returning 
from  the  chase,  during  which  he  had  killed  several  pheas- 
ants in  the  woods  and  a  notary  in  a  village.  The  Regent 
said  to  him — "  Go  away,  you  are  a  prince  and  I  will  neither 
have  the  Comte  de  Charolais  decapitated  for  having  killed 
a  passer-by,  nor  a  passer-by  for  killing  the  Comte  de  Char- 


i8  PARIS 

olais."  In  the  Rue  du  Battoir,  Marshal  Saxe  kept  his 
seraglio,  which  he  took  with  him  to  war,  which  brought  in 
the  suite  of  the  army  three  full  coaches,  that  the  Uhlans 
called  "  The  Marshal's  Women-wagons."  What  strange 
events,  sometimes  accumulated  with  that  incoherence  of 
reality  from  whence  you  are  free  to  draw  reflections  !  In 
the  same  week,  a  woman,  Madame  de  Chaumont,  in  the 
Mississippi  stock-jobbing,  gains  a  hundred  and  twenty-seven 
millions  ;  the  forty  chairs  of  the  Academie  Fran^aise  are 
sent  to  Cambrai  to  seat  the  congress  that  ceded  Gibraltar  to 
England ;  and  the  great  gate  of  the  Bastille  opens  at  mid- 
night to  give  a  view  in  the  first  courtyard  of  the  execution 
by  torch-light  of  an  unknown,  whose  name  and  crime  has 
never  been  known  by  anybody.  Books  were  treated  in  two 
ways  :  the  parliament  burned  them,  the  divinity  chapter  tore 
them  up.  They  were  burned  upon  the  great  staircase  of 
the  Palais  :  they  were  torn  up  in  the  Rue  Chanoinesse.  It 
is  said  that  it  was  in  this  street  amongst  a  waste  heap  of 
condemned  books,  that  Pliny's  epistles,  afterwards  printed 
by  Aldus  Manutius,  were  discovered  by  the  monk  Joconde, 
the  builder  of  stone  bridges  that  Sannazar  called  pontifex. 
As  for  the  great  steps  of  the  Palais,  in  default  of  writers 
"  who  smelt  the  burning,"  they  saw  the  writings  burned. 
At  the  foot  of  this  staircase  Boindin  said  to  Lamettrie : 
"  They  persecute  you  because  you  are  an  atheistic  Jansenist ; 
they  leave  me  in  peace  because  I  have  the  good  sense  to  be 
an  atheistic  Molinist."  There  were  the  sentences  of  the  Sor- 
bonne  in  addition  for  the  books.     La  Sorbonne,  a  calotte 


OLD  PARIS  19 

rather  than  a  dome,  dominated  that  chaos  of  colleges  that 
composed  the  University  and  that  the  first  Balzac,  in  his 
quarrel  with  Pere  Golu,  called  the  Latin  country^  the  name 
that  has  clung  to  it.  La  Sorbonne  had  moral  jurisdiction 
over  scholasticism.  La  Sorbonne  forced  John  XXII.  to  re- 
tract his  theory  of  beatific  vision  j  La  Sorbonne  declared 
quinquina  "  villainous  bark,"  upon  vi^hich  the  parliament 
issued  a  decree  forbidding  quinquina  to  heal ;  La  Sorbonne 
decided  adversely  gainst  Pope  Sixtus  IV.  With  regard  to 
Antoine  Campani,  that  bishop  "  to  w^hom  a  peasant  gave 
birth  under  a  laurel-tree,"  and  to  vv^hom  Germany  v^^as  so 
greatly  displeasing,  says  his  biographer,  that  on  his  return 
to  Italy,  finding  himself  on  the  top  of  the  Alps,  this  ven- 
erable prelate  said  to  Germany  : 

"  Aspice  nudatas^  harhara  terra^  nates.''* 
The  house  No.  20,  at  Bercy,  belonged  to  the  Prevot 
de  Beaumont,  w^ho  w^as  shut  up  alive  in  one  of  the  stone 
tombs  of  the  Tour  Bertaudiere  for  having  denounced  the 
Pacte  de  Famine.  In  the  immediate  neighbourhood, 
another  very  mysterious  house  was  called  the  Cour  des 
Crimes.  Nobody  knows  what  it  was.  Before  the  door  of  the 
Provost's  house  of  Paris,  where  sculptured  and  painted  car- 
touches represented  iEneas  Scipio,  Charlemagne,  Esplandian 
and  Bayard,  called  "  flowers  of  chivalry  and  loyalty,"  on 
August  the  30th,  1766,  an  usher  with  a  staff  cried  the  edict 
ordering  gentlemen  henceforth  to  wear  at  their  side  swords 
of  twenty-three  inches  in  length  at  the  utmost  "  with  carp- 
tongue  points."     Swords  de  guet-apens  abounded  in  Paris  j 


20  PARIS 

hence  the  edict.  Other  repressions  were  necessary : 
In  1750,  when  the  furnishing  of  the  chamber  for  the 
Dauphin  at  the  Bellevue  pavilion  had  just  cost  eighteen 
hundred  thousand  francs,  in  a  spirit  of  economy  the  ration 
of  bread  for  the  prisoners  was  reduced,  which  famished 
them  and  drove  them  to  revolt.  The  authorities  fired  into 
the  throng  through  the  prison  gratings  and  killed  several : 
among  others,  at  Fort-l'  Eveque,  two  women.  At  the 
Academie  Fran^aise,  there  was  a  frightful,  inquisitive  indi- 
vidual, la  Condamine ;  he  rhymed  to  Chloris  like  Gentil- 
Bernard,  and  explored  the  ocean  like  Vasco  de  Gama.  Be- 
tween a  quatrain  and  a  tempest  he  went  upon  the  scaffolds 
to  get  a  near  view  of  the  executions.  On  one  occasion  he 
was  present  at  a  quartering  upon  the  very  stage  of  torment. 
The  patient,  haggard  and  bound  in  iron,  looked  at  him. 
"The  gentleman  is  an  amateur,"  said  the  executioner. 
Such  were  the  manners.  This  took  place  at  the  Place  de 
Greve,  the  day  when  Louis  XV.  assassinated  Damiens  there. 
Is  it  necessary  to  continue  ?  If  it  were  allowed  to  quote 
oneself,  the  writer  of  these  lines  would  say  here  :  "  y  Vn 
passe  et  des  meilleurs."  Add  to  this  dolorous  mass  the  ad- 
ditional burden  of  Versailles,  that  terrible  court ;  extortion, 
the  expedient  of  the  princes  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,  re- 
placed by  stock-jobbing,  the  expedient  of  the  princes  of  the 
Nineteenth ;  and  that  misshapen  Conti,  crushing  with  fillips 
the  face  of  a  young  girl  guilty  of  being  pretty  ;  that  Chevalier 
de  Rohan,  cudgelling  Voltaire.  What  a  precipice  we  are 
passing  !     Lugubrious  descent !     Dante  would  hesitate  here. 


OLD  PARIS  21 

This  is  the  true  catacomb  of  Paris.  History  has  no  blacker 
sap.  No  labyrinth  equals  in  horror  this  cave  of  ancient  deeds 
in  which  so  many  lively  presumptions  have  their  roots.  This 
past  however  exists  no  longer,  but  its  corpse  does  -,  whoever 
delves  in  old  Paris  comes  across  it.  The  word  corpse  ex- 
presses too  little.  The  plural  would  be  necessary  here. 
The  dead  errors  and  miseries  are  an  ant-hill  of  bones. 
They  fill  this  underground  that  is  called  the  annals  of  Paris. 
All  the  superstitions  are  here,  all  the  fanaticisms,  all  the 
religious  fables,  all  the  legal  fictions,  all  the  ancient  things 
called  sacred,  rules,  codes,  customs,  dogmas  ;  and,  out  of 
sight  in  these  shades,  we  can  distinguish  the  sinister  laughter 
of  all  these  death's-heads.  Alas  !  the  unfortunate  men  who 
pile  up  exactions  and  iniquities  forget  or  are  ignorant  that 
there  is  an  accounting.  Those  tyrannies,  those  lettres  de 
cachet^  those  orders,  that  Vincennes,  that  donjon  of  the 
Temple,  where  Jacques  Molay  summoned  the  King  of 
France  to  appear  before  God,  that  Montfaucon  where  En- 
guerrand  de  Marigny  who  built  it  was  hanged,  that  Bastille 
where  Hugues  Aubriot  who  erected  it  was  confined,  those 
cells  in  imitation  of  wells  and  calottes  in  imitation  of  the 
leads  of  Venice,  those  promiscuous  towers,  some  for  prayer 
others  for  prison,  that  scattering  of  knells  and  tocsins  made 
for  all  those  bells  during  twelve  hundred  years,  those  gib- 
bets, those  strappadoes,  those  delights,  that  Diana  in  com- 
plete nudity  at  the  Louvre,  those  torture-chambers,  those 
harangues  of  kneeling  magistrates,  those  idolatries  of  eti- 
quette, connexes  to  the  refinements   of  executions,  those 


22  PARIS 

doctrines  that  everything  belongs  to  the  king,  those  follies, 
those  shames,  those  basenesses,  those  mutilations  of  every 
virility,  those  confiscations,  those  persecutions,  and  those 
crimes  silently  accumulated  from  century  to  century  till  at 
last  there  came  a  day  when  all  this  gloom  reached  a  total, — 
1789. 


SAINT-DENIS  AND  SAINTE-GENEVIEVE 

GRANT  ALLEN 

IT  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  to  the  mediaeval  Parisian, 
Paris  appeared   far  less   as   the  home  of  the  kings  or 
the  capital  of  the  kingdom  than  as  the  shrine  of  Saint- 
Denis  and  the  city  of  Sainte-Genevieve. 

Universal  tradition  relates  that  St.  Denis  was  the  first 
preacher  of  Christianity  in  Paris.  He  is  said  to  have  suf- 
fered martyrdom  there  in  the  year  270.  As  the  apostle 
and  evangelist  of  the  town,  he  was  deeply  venerated  from 
the  earliest  times ;  but  later  legend  immensely  increased  his 
vogue  and  his  sanctity.  On  the  one  hand,  he  was  identi- 
fied with  Dionysius  the  Areopagite  ;  on  the  other  hand,  he 
was  said  to  have  walked  after  his  decapitation,  bearing  his 
head  in  his  hand,  from  his  place  of  martyrdom  on  the  hill 
of  Montmartre  (Mons  Martyrum),  near  the  site  from  which 
the  brand-new  church  of  the  Sacre  Coeur  now  overlooks 
the  vastly  greater  modern  city,  to  a  spot  two  miles  away, 
where  a  pious  lady  buried  him.  On  this  spot,  a  chapel  is 
said  to  have  been  erected  as  early  as  a.  d.  275,  within  five 
years  of  his  martyrdom ;  later,  Sainte-Genevieve,  assisted 
by  the  people  of  Paris,  raised  a  church  over  his  remains  on 
the  same  site.  In  the  reign  of  King  Dagobert,  the  sacred 
body  was  removed  to  the  Abbey  of  St.  Denis,  which  be- 
came the  last  resting-place  of  the  kings  of  France,     It  is 

23 


24  PARIS 

probable  that  the  legend  of  the  saint  having  carried  his  head 
from  Montmartre  arose  from  a  misunderstanding  of  images 
of  the  decapitated  bishop,  bearing  his  severed  head  in  his 
hands  as  a  symbol  of  the  mode  of  his  martyrdom ;  but  the 
tale  was  universally  accepted  as  true  in  mediaeval  days,  and 
is  still  so  accepted  by  devout  Parisians.  Images  of  St. 
Denis,  in  episcopal  robes,  carrying  his  mitred  head  in  his 
hands,  may  be  looked  for  on  all  the  ancient  buildings  of  the 
city.  Saint-Denis  thus  represents  the  earliest  patron  saint 
of  Paris — the  saint  of  the  primitive  church  and  of  the 
period  of  persecution. 

The  second  patron  saint  of  the  city — the  saint  of  the 
Frankish  conquest — is  locally  and  artistically  even  more 
important.  Like  Jeanne  d'Arc,  she  touches  the  strong 
French  sentiment  of  patriotism.  Sainte-Genevieve,  a  peas- 
ant girl  of  Nanterre  (on  the  outskirts  of  Paris),  was  born  in 
241,  during  the  stormy  times  of  the  barbarian  irruptions. 
When  she  was  seven  years  old,  Saint-Germain,  of  Auxerre, 
on  his  way  to  Britain,  saw  la  pucellette  Genevieve^  and  be- 
came aware,  by  divine  premonition,  of  her  predestined 
glory.  When  she  had  grown  to  woman's  estate,  and  was 
a  shepherdess  at  Nanterre,  a  barbarian  leader  (identified  in 
the  legend  with  Attila,  King  of  the  Huns)  threatened  to  lay 
siege  to  the  little  city.  But  Genevieve,  warned  of  God,  ad- 
dressed the  people,  begging  them  not  to  leave  their  homes, 
and  assuring  them  of  the  miraculous  protection  of  heaven. 
And  indeed,  as  it  turned  out,  the  barbarians,  without  any 
obvious   reason,  changed  their  line  of  march,  and  avoided 


SAINT-DENIS  25 

Paris.  Again,  when  Childeric,  the  father  of  Clovis,  in- 
vested the  city,  the  people  suffered  greatly  from  sickness 
and  famine.  Then  Genevieve  took  command  of  the  boats 
which  were  sent  up  stream  to  Troyes  for  succour,  stilled 
by  her  prayers  the  frequent  tempests,  and  brought  the  ships 
back  laden  with  provisions.  After  the  Franks  had  captured 
Paris,  Sainte-Genevieve  carried  on  Roman  traditions  into 
the  Prankish  court ;  she  was  instrumental  in  converting 
Clovis  and  his  wife  Clotilde ;  and  when  she  died,  at 
eighty-nine,  a  natural  death,  she  was  buried  at  the  side  of 
her  illustrious  disciples.  Her  image  may  frequently  be 
recognized  on  early  buildings  by  the  figure  of  a  devil  at 
her  side,  endeavouring  in  vain  (as  was  his  wont)  to  ex- 
tinguish her  lighted  taper — the  taper,  no  doubt,  of  Roman 
Christianity,  which  she  did  not  allow  to  be  quenched  by 
the  Frankish  invaders. 

Round  these  two  sacred  personages,  the  whole  art  and 
history  of  early  Paris  continually  cluster.  The  beautiful 
figure  of  the  simple  peasant  enthusiast,  Sainte-Genevieve, 
in  particular,  has  largely  coloured  Parisian  ideas  and  Pari- 
sian sympathies.  Her  shrine  still  attracts  countless  thou- 
sands of  the  faithful. 


OLD  PARIS 

LOUIS  BLANC 

MONTAIGNE  loved  Paris,  I  was  going  to  say 
as  a  lover  loves  his  mistress.  He  spoke  of  it 
with  tenderness  :  "  Paris,"  he  said,  "  has 
owned  my  heart  from  infancy ;  and  good  things  have  come 
to  me  there ;  the  more  I  have  since  seen  of  other  beautiful 
cities  the  more  the  beauty  of  this  one  advances  in  my  affec- 
tions :   I  love  it  tenderly,  even  its  warts  and  blemishes." 

Whence  arose  Montaigne's  tenderness  for  Paris  ? 

At  that  epoch,  the  magnificent  boulevards  which  the 
ediles  of  the  day  have  created  with  a  wave  of  their  magic 
wand  did  not  exist.  At  that  time,  there  was  no  Rue  de 
Rivoli  leading  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville ;  nor  boulevards  such 
as  Babylon  might  have  envied,  nor  gigantic  hotels,  nor  glit- 
tering cafes,  nor  squares ;  there  was  nothing  approaching 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  nor  anything  resembling  the  Pare  de 
Monceaux.  The  Louvre,  the  principal  facade  of  which, 
begun  in  1666  on  the  plans  of  Claude  Perrault,  was  only 
finished  in  1670,  at  that  time  presented  the  somewhat  un- 
attractive aspect  of  a  feudal  castle,  defended  on  the  side  of 
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,  by  a  wide  moat  fed  by  the 
waters  of  the  Seine.  The  Chateau  of  the  Tuileries,  which 
Catherine  de  Medicis  had  built  in  1564  for  her  private 
dwelling,  but   from  which   she   had  fled  immediately  after- 

26 


MAISON    HENRI    IV 


OLD  PARIS  27 

wards  on  I  do  not  know  what  astrological  prediction,  was 
separated  from  the  garden  by  a  street ;  and  this  garden, 
quite  different  from  what  Andre  Le  Notre  made  it  in  1665, 
showed,  mingled  in  confusion,  an  aviary,  a  pond,  a  me- 
nagerie, and  a  warren,  all  of  which  was  protected  by  a 
strong  wall,  a  moat  and  a  bastion.  There  was  no  Place  de 
la  Concorde  then,  and  the  trees  which  to-day  form  the 
Champs-Elysees  were  not  to  be  planted  till  1670.  The 
Marche  aux  Chevaux,  where  the  minions  of  Henri  II. 
fought  against  the  favourites  of  the  Duke  of  Guise,  only 
became  the  Place  Royale  under  Henri  IV.  It  was  a  simple 
house,  called  "  hotel  bati  de  neuf^'  which  stood  on  the  spot 
where  a  few  years  later  Marie  de  Medicis  caused  the  foun- 
dations of  the  Palais  du  Luxembourg  to  be  laid.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  the  Palais  Royale  did  not  exist,  not 
having  been  built,  by  Jacques  Le  Mercier,  for  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu,  till  1629.  The  construction  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  had  been  undertaken  on  the  plans  of  the  Italian  arch- 
itect Boccardo ;  but  the  work  was  only  commenced.  The 
quays,  composed  of  roughly-hewn  masonry,  did  not  extend 
the  whole  length  of  the  banks  of  the  Seine :  the  right  bank 
had  only  three;  the  left  bank,  only  one ;  the  lie  de  la  Cite 
had  none  at  all.  There  were  only  four  bridges :  Notre- 
Dame,  Petit-Pont,  Pont-au-Change  and  Pont  Saint-Michel. 
Besides  the  two  Italian  theatres  of  Albert  Ganasse  and  the 
Gelosi,  there  was  a  French  theatre,  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne,  where  the  Confreres  de  la  Passion  and  the  Enfants 
sans  souci  were  played  under  the  direction  of  the  Prince  des 


28  PARIS 

Sots  ;  but  what  theatres  !  The  public  squares  were  scarcely 
more  than  cross-roads.  As  a  shift  for  promenades  planted 
with  trees,  there  was  the  Pre  aux  Clercs.  As  for  cafes,  peo- 
ple scarcely  knew  what  they  were,  the  first  two  cafes  in  Paris 
being  only  established  there  towards  the  end  of  the  Seven- 
teenth Century  by  the  Armenian,  Pascal,  and  the  Sicilian, 
Francois  Procope.  The  streets,  generally  too  narrow  to 
allow  carriages  to  pass  each  other,  were  ill  paved,  and,  as 
for  their  number,  it   is   furnished   by   these   verses   of  the 

time  : 

"  Dedans  la  cite  de  Paris, 
Y  a  des  rues  trenie-six, 
Et,  au  qiiartier  de  Hulepoix, 
En  y  a  quatre-vingt-trois, 
Et,  au  qiiartier  de  Saint-Denis, 
Trois  cents  il  n'en  faut  que  six. 
Contez-les  bien  tout  d  votre  aise  : 
Quartre  cents  y  a  et  treize" 

We  see  it  was  a  very  shabby  Paris,  in  comparison  with 
the  Paris  of  M.  Haussmann,  of  which  Montaigne  spoke 
with  so  much  reverence  and  love.  Can  it  be  that  cities 
may  possess  another  beauty  than  that  which  consists  in  the 
splendour  of  its  palaces,  the  sumptuousness  of  its  edifices, 
the  luxury  of  its  public  establishments,  the  multiplicity  of 
its  promenades,  and  the  number  and  width  of  its  streets  ? 

The  truth  is  that  in  all  periods  of  its  existence  Paris  has 
possessed  a  charm  independent  of  its  external  beauty.  It 
was  this  indefinable  charm  to  which  the  Caesar  Julian  sub- 
mitted, under  whose  administration,  be  it  noted  in  passing, 
the  name  of  Paris  replaced  that  of  Lutetia,  when  he  wrote 


OLD  PARIS  29 

— "  formerly  I  spent  my  winter  season  in  my  dear  Lutetia." 
And  what  was  the  Paris  of  the  Fourteenth  Century  ?  It 
was  that  species  of  fascination  which  so  long  afterwards 
made  Charles  V.  say  that  Rouen  was  the  greatest  city  of 
France,  since  Paris  was  a  world.  There  was  no  period  in 
which  Paris  was  not  the  object  of  a  profound,  and,  let  it  be 
well  understood,  an  entirely  moral  admiration.  What 
passionate  homage,  for  example,  Paris  received  in  the 
Eighteenth  Century  from  strangers  who  came  from  every 
corner  of  the  globe,  among  whom  were  so  many  celebrated 
Englishmen  !  Richardson,  John  Wilkes,  Horace  Walpole, 
Gibbon,  Hume,  Sterne,  inhaled  with  delight  the  atmos- 
phere of  Paris ;  I  mean  its  intellectual  atmosphere.  "  Ah  ! " 
wrote  Gibbon  with  a  sigh,  "  if  I  had  been  rich  and  in- 
dependent, Paris  is  where  I  should  have  fixed  my  resi- 
dence." Did  not  Hume  also  write  :  "  I  thought  of  estab- 
lishing myself  there  for  the  rest  of  my  life  !  "  And  it  is 
not  at  all  by  the  external  beauty  of  Paris  that  Gibbon  and 
Hume  explain  the  attachment  with  which  Paris  inspired 
them.  Both  gave  as  the  reason  for  this  attachment  the  in- 
expressible sweetness  of  the  intellectual  life  that  was  en- 
joyed there. 

Let  us  come  down  from  the  Eighteenth  Century  to  the 
Nineteenth,  and  hear  what  Goethe  said  of  Paris  on  May 
3d,  1827,  in  conversation  with  Eckermann  :  "Now  pic- 
ture to  yourself  a  city  like  Paris  where  the  best  heads  of  a 
great  empire  are  all  gathered  together  in  one  place,  and  in- 
struct each  other  and  mutually  elevate  one  another  by  their 


30  PARIS 

relations,  their  struggles,  and  their  emulations  every  day ; 
where  all  that  is  most  remarkable  in  all  realms  of  nature, 
and  in  the  art  of  every  quarter  of  the  world,  is  accessible 
to  study  every  day  ;  picture  to  yourself  this  universal  city 
where  every  step  upon  a  bridge  or  a  square  recalls  a  great 
past,  where  a  fragment  of  history  is  unrolled  at  the  corner 
of  every  street.  And,  nevertheless,  do  not  imagine  the 
Paris  of  a  limited  and  dull  century,  but  the  Paris  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century  in  which  for  three  generations  of  man- 
kind beings  like  Moliere,  Voltaire,  Diderot  and  others  like 
them  have  placed  in  circulation  an  abundance  of  ideas 
which  nowhere  else  in  the  world  can  be  found  thus 
gathered  together,  and  then  you  will  understand  how 
Ampere,  growing  greater  m  the  midst  of  this  wealth,  can 
be  something  at  twenty-four  years  of  age." 

I  hope  the  reader  has  not  failed  to  notice  these  words : 
*'  Where  every  step  upon  a  bridge  or  a  square  recalls  a  great 
past^  where  a  fragment  of  history  is  mirolled  at  the  corner  of 
every  street^ 

How  much,  in  fact,  is  added  to  the  enchantments  of 
Paris,  the  metropolis  of  science  and  the  arts,  of  fashion 
and  taste,  of  literature  and  mind,  by  the  imposing  series  of 
great  men  and  great  things  whose  image  animates  such  of 
its  stones  that  have  not  yet  been  broken  up  and  dispersed  ! 
If,  even  in  the  Fourth  Century,  the  little  of  Paris  that  ex- 
isted occupied  so  large  a  space  in  Julian's  heart ;  if,  in  the 
Sixteenth  Century,  Paris  already  possessed  in  the  eyes  of 
Charles  V.  the  majesty  of  a  universe  and  compelled  the 


OLD  PARIS  31 

adoration  of  Montaigne  ;  if,  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  it 
exercised  a  power  of  irresistible  seduction  over  so  many 
brilliant  intelligencies,  what  a  super-addition  of  prestige  and 
attraction  it  gains  to-day  from  the  incessantly  multiplied 
number  of  illustrious  phantoms  that  thought  can  evoke 
there !  The  old  university  and  the  struggles  of  its  sa- 
vants, the  scholars  of  former  days  and  their  wild  pranks,  the 
parliaments,  the  states-general,  the  unsuccessful  revolution 
of  Marcel  the  provost  of  the  merchants,  the  uprising  of 
the  Maillotins,  the  sanguinary  quarrel  of  the  Armagnacs 
and  Bourguignons,  the  English,  suffered  for  a  moment  and 
then  driven  off,  the  massacre  of  the  Calvinists,  the  troubles 
of  the  Ligue,  the  day  of  the  Barricades,  the  Fronde,  the  reign 
of  the  salons  and  of  the  philosophers,  the  French  Revolu- 
tion and  what  followed ;  what  aspects,  what  truly  memo- 
rable episodes,  what  sudden  turns  of  fortune  in  the  great 
drama  in  the  history  of  France  have  been  contained  in  the 
history  of  Paris  ! 

And  this  is  what  constitutes  what  I  should  like  to  call 
its  soul ;  for  cities  have  a  soul  and  that  is  their  past ;  and 
their  material  beauty  only  gains  its  full  value  when  it  pre- 
serves the  visible  traces  of  that  other  beauty  which  is  made 
up  of  memories, — memories  terrible  or  pathetic,  memories 
that  amuse  or  move  us,  that  sadden  or  console,  but  every 
one  of  which  contains  enlightenment  and  serves  to  feed  the 
flame  of  the  mind.  To  quote  only  a  few  examples,  I  have 
never  passed  through  the  Rue  des  Fosses-Saint-Germain-l' 
Auxerrois  without  glancing  at  the  house  whence,  August 


32  PARIS 

22d,  1572,  the  arquebus  was  fired  that  wounded  the  Ad- 
mirable Coligny,  and  without  immediately  seeing  the  vic- 
tims of  Saint  Bartholomew  start  up.  I  have  never  en- 
tered the  Cafe  de  la  Regence  without  seeing  Diderot  there, 
following  a  game  of  chess,  played  by  "  Legal  the  profound, 
Philidor  the  subtle,  or  Mayot  the  solid,"  and  without  be- 
ing led  by  the  natural  thread  of  ideas  into  that  famous 
army  of  encyclopedists  whom  Diderot  so  bravely  led  to 
the  assault  on  superstition.  At  the  epoch  of  August  the 
lOth,  1792,  there  was  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel  a  shop 
occupied  by  Fauvelet,  Bourrienne's  brother.  Whilst  the 
people  were  besieging  the  chateau^  a  man  was  enjoying  the 
sight  from  the  upper  windows  of  this  shop.  He  was  an 
officer  who  had  been  dismissed  from  the  service,  very  poor, 
and  greatly  embarrassed ;  and  in  order  to  live  he  had  been 
forced  to  form  the  project  of  letting  and  sub-letting  houses. 
He  was  named  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Napoleon,  still  un- 
known to  the  French  Revolution,  and  watching  it  in 
operation ;  what  a  combination !  Now  all  that  this  sug- 
gests was  said  to  the  passer-by  by  Fauvelet's  shop  :  who 
would  not  regret  the  loss  of  it  ? 

Paris  is  full  of  these  memories  imprinted  on  marble, 
wood,  or  stone.  Are  they  destined  to  disappear  ?  Among 
those  children  of  France  who  have  long  since  left  it,  I 
know  some  who  grow  pale  with  terror  when  they  are  told  : 
"  If  you  were  to  return  to  Paris  to-morrow,  you  would  no 
longer  recognize  it."  What !  Already  ?  Alas !  Never- 
theless it  was  good  to  recognize  ! 


OLD  PARIS  33 

Let  us  be  understood  however.  Let  the  unhealthy 
streets  be  laid  low  and  let  spacious  ways  be  opened ;  let 
room  for  the  sunlight  be  made  in  the  sombre  quarters ;  let 
Paris  be  given  lungs  where  it  experiences  difficulty  in 
breathing;  it  must  be  done,  since  hygiene  orders  it  and 
progress  exacts  it.  But  wherever  either  the  interest  of 
public  safety,  or  the  inevitable  development  of  civilization, 
does  not  prescribe  that  the  Parisian  government  shall  show 
itself  pitiless,  be  merciful  to  old  Paris,  be  merciful  to  the 
visible  remains  of  that  past  which  the  present  cannot  de- 
stroy in  all  that  recalls  it  without  committing  the  crime  of 
parricide  !  Mercy  !  Well,  yes,  mercy  even  for  some  of 
the  warts  and  blemishes  that  Montaigne  loved  ! 


ALONG  THE  SEINE 

LOUIS  ENJULT 

IF  in  the  work  of  regeneration  houses  consecrated  by 
illustrious  memories  disappear,  if  the  dwellings  of 
Moliere,  Corneille,  Racine,  Boileau,  Scarron  and 
Rousseau  are  not  preserved,  is  the  memory  of  these  great 
men  bound  to  obscure  and  vulgar  chambers,  long  dishon- 
oured by  profane  inhabitants  ?  The  curious  and  charming 
private  edifices  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  of  the  Renaissance 
no  longer  exist :  the  great  mansions  of  the  aristocracy  of  Louis 
XIV.  and  Louis  XV.,  were  sacked  by  the  first  Revolution. 
Modern  demolitions  therefore  only  overthrow  insignificant 
buildings,  obscure  rubbish,  for  which  the  artist  has  no  re- 
grets; and  besides  when  destruction  comes  across  a  monu- 
ment, the  Tour-Saint-Jacques-des-Boucheries  for  example, 
it  halts  and  turns  aside,  or  surrounds  it  with  a  square  that 
increases  its  value  and  its  effect ;  what  it  destroys  is  found 
again  in  the  pious  memory  of  the  poets.  Paris  has 
great  pretensions  to  maritime  glory.  It  is  not  only  a 
port,  but  contains  forty  more  or  less  considerable  ports : 
the  port  de  Bercy,  de  la  Rapee,  de  la  gare  d'lvry,  de 
1'  Hopital,  port  Saint-Bernard,  de  la  Tournelle,  port  Saint- 
Nicholas,  and  many  others. 

Wine  and  a  fritter  !  bargemen  and  floats,  that  is  Bercy  ! 

34 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  35 

Bercy,  which  has  an  important  commerce  in  wine  and 
timber,  is  divided  into  three  quarters,  la  Rapee,  la  Grande- 
Pinte,  and  the  valley  of  Fecamp. 

It  was  under  Charles  IX.  that  a  citizen  of  Paris,  Jean 
Rouvet  had  the  idea  of  bringing  wood  to  Paris  without  the 
aid  of  a  boat ;  the  idea  succeeded  and  it  made  its  way  by 
following  the  thread  of  the  water.  Arrived  at  Bercy,  the 
wood  is  given  up  to  the  dechireurs  de  bateau  who  take  the 
float  to  pieces ;  to  the  ravageurs  who  wash  it  and  extract 
the  nails  and  every  species  of  iron ;  and,  finally,  to  the 
d'ebardeurs  who  pile  it  in  decasteres  on  the  bank.  This  am- 
phibious population  of  rude  and  savage  manners  has  sup- 
plied the  drama  and  fiction  with  more  than  one  type  ;  it 
has  given  Bercy  its  character  and  physiognomy.  When 
we  see  the  people  athletic  and  violent  in  the  mud  and  water 
up  to  the  waist,  with  rolled-up  sleeves  and  open  blouse,  in 
wide  felt  hats  without  form  or  name,  we  are  far  from  think- 
ing of  those  d'ebardeurs  of  fancy,  in  satin  vests,  silk  stock- 
ings and  velvet  shoes,  with  the  graces  and  smiles  of  the 
mad  carnival  nights,  of  whom  the  poet  has  said  : 

"  What  is  a  debardeur  ? 

An  angel  joined  to  a  demon 
A  fancy,  a  marvel,  a  caprice, 
A  discrete  murmur  that  reaches  you  through  the  shadows, 
A  word  of  love  like  a  ray  ; 
It  is  a  bold  gesture,  a  hand  that  presses 
A  perfumed  glove,  a  countess's  foot 
In  Cinderella's  slipper." 

Bercy  is  still  more  celebrated  for  the  wines  it  receives — 


36  PARIS 

and  for  those  it  manufactures,  without  wine  or  grape^  if  we 
may  believe  evil  tongues  and  light  talk. 

The  bridge  of  Bercy  is  the  first  we  meet  on  the  way ; 
it  commands  the  royal  river  for  a  long  distance,  down  as 
well  as  up  stream  ;  from  its  elevated  piles  three  melancholy 
monuments  are  visible  :  Bicetre,  the  Salpetriere,  and  Char- 
enton. 

Do  not  let  us  enter  that  cite  dolente  to-day.  Let  us 
even  without  stopping,  pass  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  to  which 
we  will  return  later.  Let  us  salute  the  Pont  d'  Austerlitz 
and  the  memory  of  a  victory.  It  was  built  from  1801  to 
1807  by  Beaupre ;  its  fine  iron  arches  are  supported  by 
piers  of  masonry  ;  it  is  this  bridge  that  joins  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes  to  the  boulevards  on  the  right  bank;  its 
horizon  embraces  the  country  through  which  the  tortuous 
Seine  unrolls  its  argent  rings,  and  the  granite  line  of  the 
quays  shaded  by  trees. 

The  foot-bridge  of  the  Estacade  joins  the  He  Saint- 
Louis  to  what  was  formerly  the  island  of  Louviers  ;  but 
now  Louviers  is  no  longer  an  island,  since  the  arm  of  the 
river  that  separated  it  from  the  Quai  Morland  has  been  filled 
up.  This  island  has  had  several  names  that  are  still  to  be 
found  in  the  old  historians  of  Paris.  In  the  Fourteenth  Cen- 
tury it  was  the  He  des  Javiaux,  that  is  to  say  the  island  of 
alluvion,  sand  and  ooze  ;  two  hundred  years  later  it  was 
the  He  d'  Entragues,  then  the  He  de  Louviers.  Now  it  is 
nothing  but  the  bank  of  a  quay.  In  1549  the  provost  of 
the   merchants  and  aldermen  of  Paris  gave  a  fete  to  Henri 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  37 

II.  in  the  He  de  Louviers  ;  in  these  martial  sports  of  the 
citizens  the  monarch  could  see  an  image  of  a  siege  and  all 
the  changing  fortunes  of  attack  and  defense.  Notwith- 
standing its  union  with  terra  firma  people  still  say  He  Lou- 
viers, but  it  is  long  since  they  said  the  He  aux  Juifs,  He  du 
Louvre,  He  aux  Treilles,  or  He  du  Gros-Caillon.  The 
continents  are  invading  the  seas.  All  these  ancient  isles 
are  joined  to  the  neighbouring  quays.  The  He  Saint-Loais 
is  joined  to  terra  firma  by  five  or  six  bridges  :  the  Pont  de 
Damiette,  built  under  the  Empire,  of  iron  wire;  the  Pont 
Marie,  rebuilt  in  the  Sixteenth  Century  by  an  architect  of 
that  name;  until  1786  it  was  covered  with  houses.  The 
bridges  of  the  Middle  Ages  were  veritable  streets  with 
houses  of  four  or  five  stories  that  cut  off  the  view  of  the 
beautiful  perspectives  of  the  river ;  the  Pont  Marie  is  built 
of  stone.  The  little  foot-bridge  of  Constantine  dates  from 
1836.  The  Pont  de  Louis  Philippe  dates  from  1832  ;  that 
of  La  Cite  is  ten  years  younger.  The  most  celebrated  of 
all  these  bridges  is  the  Pont  de  la  Tourelle,  restored, 
widened,  and  considerably  lowered  in  1847.  '^^^  °^^ 
bridge  dated  from  1656  ;  it  owed  its  name  to  the  fortress 
of  Philippe  Auguste  that  was  situated  in  its  vicinity  :  La 
Tourelle,  that  was  afterwards  converted  into  a  prison  and 
demolished  in  1792. 

Mercier  in  his  Tableau  de  Paris  has  given  to  the  He 
Saint-Louis  a  certificate  of  good  life  and  manners.  He 
says :  "  This  quarter  seems  to  have  escaped  the  great  cor- 
ruption of  the  town.     No  girl  of  evil  life  finds  a  domicile 


38  PA^lIS 

there ;  as  soon  as  discovered  she  is  expelled,  she  is  moved 
on.  The  citizens  look  after  it ;  the  morals  of  individuals 
are  knovi^n  there ;  any  girl  who  commits  a  fault  becomes 
the  object  of  censure  and  never  gets  married  in  the  quarter. 
Nothing  represents  a  provincial  town  better  than  the  quarter 
of  the  isle.     It  has  been  very  well  said : 

"  The  dweller  in  the  Marais  is  a  foreigner  in  the  isle." 

Let  us  hope  that  the  He  Saint-Louis  still  deserves  such 
high  praise.  It  has  preserved  a  considerable  number  of  his- 
torical memories  j  the  most  popular,  that  which  the  natives 
relate  the  most  willingly  in  the  familiar  chat  of  the  long 
twilights  is  the  judicial  duel  between  the  dog  of  Montargis 
and  the  knight  Macaire,  the  assassin  of  Aubri  de  Montdidier. 

The  He  Saint-Louis  possesses  a  church,  Saint-Louis-en- 
r  He,  and  several  fine  mansions,  the  hotels  de  Pimodan,  de 
Chenizot,  Jassaud,  and  de  Bertonvilliers ;  but  the  glory  of 
all  these  aristocratic  dwellings  pales  before  the  regal  splen- 
dours of  the  Hotel  Lambert. 

The  Hotel  Lambert  occupies  the  western  point  of  the 
He  Saint-Louis;  we  know  that  it  was  built  by  the  architect 
Leveau  towards  the  middle  of  the  Seventeenth  Century  for 
Lambert  de  Thorigny,  counsellor  to  the  parliament.  The 
Flemish  sculptor,  Van  Obstal,  modelled  all  its  ornamenta- 
tion in  stucco  in  the  Italian  manner,  groups  of  children, 
bunches  of  flowers,  and  trophies  of  arms.  Charles  Lebrun, 
Eustache  Lesueur,  and  Francois  Perrier  were  entrusted  with 
the  paintings.  The  mansion  has  passed  successively 
through  the  hands  of  th^  fermier-gen'eral  Dupin,  the  Marquis 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  39 

of  Chatel-Laumont  and  the  Count  of  Montalivet.  It  was 
occupied  thirty  years  ago  by  a  boarding-house  keeper  and  a 
manufacturer  of  military  beds  when  it  was  bought  by  Prince 
Czartoriski :  ^  the  prince  thus  delivered  it  from  the  clutches 
of  the  bande-noire  and  revived  the  splendours  of  its  best 
days. 

The  works  of  art  had  greatly  suffered.  Of  the  work  of 
Francois  Perrier  only  four  paintings  remained,  which  are 
still  to  be  seen  on  the  ceiling  in  the  Cabinet  of  the  Muses : 
Apollo  pursuing  Daphne^  the  yudgment  of  Midas^  the  Fall  of 
Phaeton^  and  Parnassus. 

Lebrun's  paintings  still  exist  in  all  their  integrity,  and 
to-day,  as  in  1649,  ^^^7  f^o^iri  the  most  beautiful  ornament 
of  the  great  gallery  of  the  mansion. 

Lesueur  worked  for  nine  years  on  the  paintings  of  the 
Hotel  Lambert.  He  painted  twelve  subjects  for  the 
Chamber  of  Love  and  the  Cabinet  of  the  Muses.  Apollo 
entrusting  Phaeton  with  his  Chariot^  transferred  from  the 
fresco  to  canvas,  has  been  bought  by  the  Louvre  with  the 
compositions  inspired  by  the  muses.  The  others  have  been 
dispersed  by  sale.  At  the  Hotel  Lambert  a  few  grisailles 
by  this  amiable  master  are  still  to  be  seen. 

Once  or  twice  a  week  the  rooms  of  the  Hotel  Lambert 
are  opened  to  the  elite  of  the  Parisian  world,  who  are 
only  too  happy  to  listen  to  the  call  of  benefit  and  pleas- 
ure. 

The  peace  of  the  He  Saint-Louis,  a  veritable  peace  of 
'  It  is  still  in  possession  of  Prince  Czartoriski. — E,  S. 


40  PARIS 

God,  has  more  than  once  attracted  to  its  great  mansions, 
savants,  poets,  magistrates,  and  artists,  whilst  the  vicinity 
of  Notre-Dame  assures  to  it  in  perpetuity  the  blessed  pres- 
ence of  "  our  venerable  brothers,  the  canons." 

Two  bridges  join  the  He  Saint-Louis  to  the  Cite. 

The  Cite  is  the  cradle  of  Paris. 

"  My  dear  Lutetia,"  wrote  Julian,  "  is  built  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  river  upon  a  little  island  joined  by  two  stone 
bridges  to  either  side  of  the  land."  Bordered  by  the  quais 
de  1'  Horloge,  Napoleon,  D'Orsay,  des  Orfevres,du  Marche, 
Neuf,  and  de  1'  Archeveche,  the  Cite  communicates  with 
the  two  sides  of  the  Seine  by  a  multitude  of  bridges — 
Louis  Philippe,  d'  Arcole,  Notre-Dame,  au-Change,  Pont- 
Neuf,  Pont  des  Arts  Saint-Michel,  Petit-Pont,  au  Doubles, 
and  de  V  Archeveche.  The  Cite  is  subdivided  into  two 
quarters :  the  quarter  of  the  Cite  proper,  and  the  quarter 
of  the  Palais  de  Justice.  Notre-Dame  on  one  side,  and 
the  Palais  on  the  other,  that  is  to  say  Religion  and  the 
State  concentrate  upon  this  single  point  the  whole  impor- 
tance of  the  capital. 

Until  the  end  of  the  last  century  the  Seine  below  Notre- 
Dame  bathed  the  gardens  of  the  chapter.  A  vast  quay  has 
given  back  for  free  circulation  the  promontory  in  face  of 
which  the  broadened  river  divides  into  two  arms  to  embrace 
the  floating  Cite.  Let  us  halt  for  a  moment  to  cast  a  last 
glance  over  the  noble  cathedral,  with  its  apsis  supported  by 
gigantic  counter-forts  and  the  arched  buttresses  of  the  ex- 
terior work,  with  their  rectangular  pinnacles  and  dentellated 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  41 

little  spires,  standing  out  before  us  in  profile  with  that  min- 
gled lightness  and  strength  that  is  the  distinguishing  charac- 
teristic of  ogival  architecture.  A  few  steps  more  and  we 
are  before  that  grand  doorway  that  awakes  the  imposing  idea 
of  power  and  majesty  in  the  soul.  This  is  the  spot  whither 
the  condemned,  with  torches  in  their  hands  and  cords  around 
their  necks,  came  to  hear  their  sentence  and  make  the 
amende  honorable  before  being  executed.  Behind  the  apsis 
of  the  church  and  on  the  site  of  the  destroyed  residence  of 
the  archbishop,  a  charming  fountain  has  been  constructed, 
the  ogival  style  of  which,  though  perhaps  a  little  too  florid, 
yet  harmonizes  well  enough  with  the  neighbouring  archi- 
tecture. 

The  Seine  from  which  we  must  not  stray  in  this  rapid 
excursion,  also  bathes  the  walls  of  the  Hotel-Dieu.  The 
pious  edifice  faces  the  Parvis  Notre-Dame  :  it  is  the  oldest 
hospital  in  the  world,  and  for  ten  centuries  it  was  the  only 
hospital  in  Paris.  Its  foundation  is  generally  attributed  to 
St.  Landry,  Bishop  of  Paris  under  Clovis  II.  in  the  year 
660.  At  the  end  of  the  Twelfth  Century  it  only  contained 
four  halls ;  but  it  received  successive  and  rapid  additions. 
Philippe  Auguste,  St.  Louis,  and  Henri  IV.,  three  great 
men,  declared  themselves  its  protectors  and  aggrandized  it. 
More  than  one  illustrious  man  has  died  at  the  Hotel-Dieu  ; 
more  than  one  head  that  harboured  grand  projects  and 
noble  thoughts,  has  lain  upon  the  low  pillow  of  public 
charity.  Among  the  illustrious  memories  that  the  hospital 
has  preserved,  one  of  the  most  melancholy  will  always  be 


42  PARIS 

that  of  the  poet,  Gilbert,  cut  off  in  the  flower  of  his  life  and 
before  that  sweet  blossoming  of  glory  that  would  have 
saved  him.  For  him  glory  only  illuminated  a  tomb.  On 
a  slab  of  black  granite  placed  on  one  of  the  great  staircases 
is  engraved  his  strophe  of  farewell,  so  often  repeated  by 
bitter  lips  complaining  of  Fate  : 

"  Au  banquet  de  la  vie,  infortunt  convive 
y'apparus  un  jour,  et  je  meurs  ! 
Je  meurs,  et  sur  la  tombe  ait  lentement  f  arrive, 
Nul  ne  viendra  verser  des  pleurs" 

The  course  of  the  water  now  brings  us  to  the  Quai  des 
Orfevres  before  the  Palais  de  Justice.  This  immense 
building  comprises  a  whole  world,  and  offers  precious  ex- 
amples of  the  architecture  of  seven  or  eight  centuries.  On 
this  very  spot  under  the  Roman  rule  a  fortress  existed. 
Julius  Caesar  had  caused  two  towers  to  be  erected  at  the 
head  of  the  two  bridges  by  which  Lutetia  communicated 
with  the  river-banks ;  these  two  towers  afterwards  became 
the  Grand-Chatelet  and  the  Petit-Chatelet.  The  Caesar 
of  the  Gauls  usually  dwelt  in  the  palace  of  the  Thermes 
and  the  Cite.  Charlemagne  and  the  whole  Carlovingian 
dynasty  preferred  Aix  or  Laon  to  Paris.  But  after  Paris 
had  been  blockaded  by  the  Normans,  Eudes,  the  first  of  the 
Capetians,  came  and  shut  himself  up  in  the  palace  of  the 
Cite  to  sustain  the  siege  there.  He  saved  Paris  and  fixed 
his  abode  in  the  Cite,  which  was  long  the  home  of  the 
princes  of  his  race.  Robert  le  Pieux  enlarged  the  palace 
of  the   Cite.     Philippe  Auguste,  who  laid  the  foundations 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  43 

of  the  Louvre,  still  lived  there  when  he  espoused  the 
daughter  of  the  King  of  Denmark.  Saint-Louis  had  the 
palace  partly  rebuilt ;  he  erected  the  Sainte-Chapelle  and 
the  immense  and  magnificent  hall  destined  for  the  solemn 
acts  of  the  government  and  the  court  festivals,  w^hich  is 
now  replaced  by  the  hall  of  the  Bas-Perdus.  Until  the 
reign  of  Francois  L,  our  Kings  temporarily  inhabited  the 
palace ;  but  after  Louis  le  Hutin,  its  principal  guest,  it  was 
the  Parliament  House.  The  great  hall  was  always  used 
for  the  ceremonies  and  official  receptions  of  royalty  ;  there 
the  ambassadors  were  introduced  to  the  king,  and  there  the 
marriao-es  of  the  children  of  France  were  celebrated.  The 
clercs  de  la  Basoche  there  played  their  farces,  sottises^  and 
moralities  that  so  greatly  delighted  our  good  ancestors. 
Fire,  which  after  man  is  the  greatest  scourge  of  old  monu- 
ments, destroyed  the  great  hall  in  16 18.  Everything 
perished :  including  the  marble  table  so  famous  in  the 
annals  of  the  ancient  monarchy,  around  which  sat  the  Con- 
netablle  the  Admiralty  and  the  Waters  and  Forests^ — and  the 
statues  of  the  Kings  of  France  from  Pharamond  to  Henri 
IV.  A  second  conflagration  devastated  the  palace  in  1776. 
Now  nothing  is  left  of  the  ancient  edifice  but  the  clock- 
tower  and  the  two  neighbouring  towers,  the  Sainte-Chap- 
elle, the  kitchens,  and  a  portion  of  the  galleries. 

The  Palais  de  Justice  comprises  the  whole  space  between 
the  Rue  de  la  Barillerie  and  the  Rue  Harlay ;  with  its  an- 
nexes, the  Prefecture  of  Police  and  the  Conciergerie,  it  ex- 
tends from  the  Quai  des  Orfevres  to  the  Quai  de  THor- 


44  PARIS 

loge.  The  principal  facade  that  fronts  on  the  Rue  de  la 
Barillerie  has  recently  been  improved  by  a  semicircular 
court ;  a  high  railing  separates  the  street  from  the  court  of 
the  palace,  the  facade  of  which  rises  quite  majestically. 

The  second  facade  of  the  palace  fronts  the  Quai  de 
I'Horloge.  But  first,  before  reaching  this  quay,  we  must 
pass  the  Tour  de  I'Horloge,  a  vast  and  heavy  square  con- 
struction, surmounted  by  a  little  lantern,  the  lightness  of 
which  is  in  striking  contrast  to  the  heavy  mass  of  the 
tower.  The  clock  from  which  it  gets  its  name  attracts 
our  attention  and  commands  admiration  by  its  elegant  pro- 
portions and  brilliant  decorations. 

It  was  on  this  spot  that  Charles  V.  placed  the  most 
ancient  clock  of  Paris,  made  by  a  German  clockmaker 
named  Vic,  It  was  restored  many  times,  notably  under 
Henri  II.,  Charles  IX.,  and  Henri  III. 

A  little  porch  in  carved  wood  forming  a  penthouse, 
shelters  the  dial  which  stands  out  from  a  background  sown 
with  innumerable  fleurs-de-lis,  like  the  mantle  of  our  old 
kings. 

On  the  side  of  the  quay,  new  buildings  connect  the 
Tour  de  I'Horloge  with  the  Tour  de  Montmorency  ;  a  few 
steps  further  on  is  the  Tour  de  Cesar.  Between  these  last 
two  towers,  and  pierced  in  a  black  wall,  is  the  arched  door 
of  the  Conciergerie  ;  a  fourth  tower,  much  smaller,  is  only 
noticeable  for  its  extremely  pointed  conical  roof. 

On  the  western  side,  the  Rue  Harlay,  that  runs  from  one 
street   to  another,  covers  the  Palais.     A  vast  arcade,  that 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  45 

opens  in  the  middle  of  the  street  into  the  axis  of  the  Place 
Dauphine,  gives  entrance  into  the  Cour  de  Harlay,  the  tall 
houses  of  which,  of  no  architectural  beauty,  formerly  served 
as  habitation  for  the  canons  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle  and  the 
subaltern  officers  of  the  Palais  de  Justice.  One  of  these 
black  houses  saw  the  birth  of  Nicholas  Despreaux,  who 
was  Boileau;  in  all  this  neighbourhood  we  inhale  that 
strong  classical  odour  of  epistles  and  doctrines  that  enables 
the  city  to  dispense  with  putting  up  the  traditional  slab  of 
marble  with  its  inscription  in  letters  of  gold. 

On  the  side  of  the  Quai  des  Orfevres,  the  Palais  disap- 
pears behind  the  thick  buildings  of  the  Prefecture  of  Police 
and  the  elegant  constructions  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle. 

We  now  know  the  external  aspect  of  the  Palais  de  Justice 
and  all  that  is  to  be  seen  from  the  waterside ;  we  will  not 
go  inside.  A  volume  would  be  requisite  to  describe  all 
that  little  world  that  lives  upon  justice,  that  is  to  say  at  its 
expense  !  These  rapid  pages  would  not  suffice  to  sketch 
so  many  diverse  physiognomies  from  the  president  of  the 
Cour  d Assises  to  the  Audiencier  of  the  Correctionelle ; 
from  the  master,  grown  white  under  his  briefs,  to  the  beard- 
less licentiate  on  the  scent  of  practice  in  the  hall  of  Pas- 
Perdus ;  from  the  duchess  pleading  in  separation  to  the 
butcher  convicted  of  merrymaking.  It  is  better  not  to 
begin  than  not  to  know  where  to  end. 

Going  along  the  Quai  des  Orfevres,  on  our  right  we 
soon  come  across  a  little  street,  short  and  narrow,  thronged 
by  an  active  and   silent  crowd,  busy  and  calm ;  there  we 


46  PARIS 

see  passing  like  shadows  men  of  prudent  carriage  who  do 
not  seem  to  be  looking  in  any  direction  but  who  see  every- 
where; sometimes  a  couple  of  too-obliging  acolytes  lead 
by  the  arm  an  individual  of  suspicious  appearance  but  who 
is  quite  able  to  walk  alone ; — frequently  again  we  see 
weeping  women  or  children  in  tears  crowding  about  in- 
exorable doors.  This  street  is  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem,  these 
courts  full  of  closed  vans,  municipal  guards,  and  sergents  de 
v'llle  are  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  that  sad  ante-room  of  the 
cour  d'  assises  and  the  galleys. 

The  Pont  Notre-Dame  and  the  great  and  fine  Rue  de 
la  Cite  separate  the  Quai  Napoleon  from  the  Quai  aux 
Fleurs. 

Twice  a  week,  Wednesday  and  Saturday,  the  Quai  aux 
Fleurs  sees  those  pretty  markets  ^  where  the  gardeners  ex- 
pose in  turn  according  to  the  season  the  most  beautiful 
products  of  their  gardens.  These  markets  are  essentially 
Parisian,  and  the  middle  classes,  especially  the  women  take 
the  most  lively  interest  in  them.  It  is  not  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  establishment  that  attracts  them,  for  nothing 
is  more  simple  than  the  display  of  our  florists. — A  piece  of 
linen  on  four  uprights,  a  few  shrubs  of  rare  foliage,  a  little 
fountain  that  babbles  while  pouring  out  its  faint  jet,  these 
are  the  prime  expenses.  As  for  the  sweet  and  brilliant  mer- 
chandise in  pots,  cases,  gathered  and  tied  in  bunches  or  still 

'  The  other  flower  markets  are  held  at  the  Place  de  la  Rfepublique  on 
Mondays  and  Thursdays  and  at  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine  on  Tuesdays 
and  Fridays. — E.  S. 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  47 

holding  to  the  soil  that  bore  it,  it  is  heaped  and  piled  in 
confusion  around  the  women  who  sell  it.  The  morning  is 
reserved  for  the  first  choice ;  prices  are  maintained  :  they 
fall  as  the  day  passes.  So  it  is  a  pleasure  in  the  twilight 
to  see  the  grisettes  of  the  Sorbonne  and  the  female  students 
of  the  Quartier  Saint-Jacques  descend  towards  the  Seine 
jingling  in  their  joyful  hands  the  price  of  a  long  day's 
work ;  they  arrive,  look,  touch,  smell,  and  ask  the  price  of 
everything  and  soon  return  with  a  light  step  to  their  modest 
nest  that  sings  quite  close  to  the  sky,  carrying  with  them  a 
sprig  of  mignonette,  a  rose-bush,  or  a  pot  of  clove-pinks, 
the  perfume  of  the  poor.  These  soft  colours  and  sweet 
perfumes  call  up  for  them  the  smiling  image  of  their 
paternal  fields  and  they  will  be  happier  to-morrow  when 
they  water  this  little  garden  under  their  windows  than 
Semiramis,  of  superb  memory,  under  the  jasmins  starred 
with  silver  and  the  palms  with  golden  branches  in  the 
gardens  of  Babylon.  A  moralist  has  said  :  "  the  humblest 
spray  of  verdure  suffices  to  make  us  dream  and  sometimes 
to  console  us."  Man  has  built  the  Louvre  in  vain,  he 
needs  a  rose  in  a  stone-pot ! 

From  the  Quai  aux  Fleurs,  the  eye  that  takes  in  the 
Seine  sees  the  Quai  de  Gevres  on  the  other  side  above  the 
trees  of  the  Boulevard  of  the  Hotel-de-Ville,  and  in  the 
axis  of  alignment  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  the  top  of  the 
Tour-Saint-Jacques,  to  which  has  been  restored  the 
colossal  statue  of  its  patron  and  the  symbolic  animals,  the 
old  ornamentation  of  its  four  corners. 


48  PARIS 

We  could  not  reach  the  Quai  de  1'  Horloge  without  pass- 
ing the  Pont-au-Change,  the  doyen  of  the  bridges  of  Paris. 
It  existed  in  the  time  of  Julian  ;  it  is  the  most  ancient 
way  of  communication  between  Lutetia  and  the  right  bank. 
Like  most  of  the  bridges  of  the  Middle  Ages,  this  was 
covered  with  houses  that  were  not  pulled  down  till  1788. 
At  first  it  bore  the  name  of  Grand-Pont,  up  till  the  reign 
of  Louis  VII.  who  established  the  goldsmiths  on  one  side 
and  the  money-changers  on  the  other ;  the  latter  gave  it  its 
name,  Pont-au-Change,  that  it  still  bears.  A  monument 
placed  on  the  quay  facing  the  bridge  and  now  destroyed 
represented  the  dauphin  of  France — who  was  afterwards 
Louis  XIV. — between  Louis  XIII.  and  Anne  of  Austria. 
The  Pont-au-Change  had  its  day  of  grandeur,  vogue,  and 
eclat.  Until  the  reign  of  Henri  IV.  it  was  the  promenade 
of  the  day,  the  Boulevard  de  Gard  of  the  Fifteenth  and 
Sixteenth  Centuries,  the  rendezvous  of  the  newsmongers,  the 
lounging-place  of  the  idle,  and  the  great  centre  of  reunion 
of  those  eternal  Parisian  saunterers  who  are  found  wher- 
ever there  is  nothing  doing. 

Facing  us,  the  Quai  de  Gevres  separates  the  Pont-au- 
Change  from  the  Place  du  Chatelet  which  occupies  the 
same  ground  as  did  formerly  the  prison  of  the  Chatelet,  so 
celebrated  during  the  war  between  the  Armagnacs  and  the 
Burgundians.  In  1807,  a  little  monument  that  is  still  to 
be  seen  was  erected  on  this  place  :  it  is  a  bronze  column 
dedicated  to  Victory.  At  the  top,  Victory  personified 
stands  on  tiptoe  with  her  bare  feet  on  a  half-sphere,  and, 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  49 

with  hands  raised  above  her  head,  is  scattering  palms  and 
crowns. 

At  the  point  of  the  Cite,  the  Seine  reunites  the  two 
arms  that  enfold  the  cradle  of  ancient  Paris,  and,  contained 
in  a  single  bed,  henceforth  the  river  flows  on,  calm  and 
majestic  between  two  banks  of  palaces. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  in  1578  Henri  III.  laid  the  foun- 
dations of  the  bridge  finished  by  Henri  IV.  twenty-five 
years  later,  resting  its  double-piles  on  the  open  ground  of 
the  Cite ;  it  is  this  same  bridge  that,  from  habit,  we  still 
call  Pont-Neuf  to-day,  although  it  began  its  third  century 
long  ago. 

The  Pont-Neuf  is  the  most  popular  of  all  the  monu- 
ments of  Paris.  "  As  well-known  as  the  Pont-Neuf !  "  is  a 
proverb  understood  and  accepted  even  on  the  bridge  of 
Avignon.  Notwithstanding  its  heavy  and  irregular  construc- 
tion, its  projection  like  a  donkey's  back  and  the  exaggerated 
curve  of  its  arches,  this  bridge  was  long  regarded  as  the 
most  beautiful  in  all  Europe. 

The  first  somewhat  considerable  houses  of  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  date  from  Henri  III.  Until  the  reign  of 
that  prince  there  was  no  assured  communication  for  the 
Cite  with  the  two  banks  of  the  river ;  people  crossed  by 
ferry.  The  King,  seeing  the  rapid  growth  of  Paris  down- 
stream from  the  Cite,  resolved  to  build  another  bridge. 
He  laid  its  first  stone  with  great  state  solemnity  accom- 
panied by  his  mother,  Catherine  de  Medici  and  his  wife, 
Louise  de  Vaudemont,  and  assisted  by  the  Parliament.     It 


50  PARIS 

was  the  day  of  the  death  of  his  two  mignons^  Quelus  and 
Maugiron,  killed  in  a  duel,  May  31,  1578.     The  King  was 
sad  ;  people  saw  it ;  this  will  be  the  Pont-des-Pleurs  (Bridge 
of  Tears)  said  the  courtiers ;  such  was  the  first  name  of  the 
Pont-Neuf.     The  civil  war  interrupted  the  work.     Henri 
IV.  resumed  it  and  completed  it  with  his  powerful  hands. 
He  himself  was  one  of  the  first  to  cross  it  in  1603,  and  be- 
fore   it   was  completely  finished,  L'Etoile  says,  "As  they 
remonstrated  with  him  that  the  bridge  was  not  safe  and  that 
several  had  broken  their  necks  trying  to  cross,  he  replied  : — 
'None  of  them  was  a  king  like  myself! '  "  and  he  crossed. 
The  Pont-Neuf  ruined  the  Pont-au-Change  :  it  was  not 
merely  the   most   frequented   communication   between  the 
banks,  but  it  was  also  the  fashionable  promenade,  the  cen- 
tre of  the  polite  world  and  the  necessary  rendezvous  of  all 
who  had   any  time  to  waste,  or  wit   or  money  to  expend. 
People  were  not  content  with  crossing  the  Pont-Neuf,  they 
strolled   about  there,  they  rested  and  dwelt  there.     From 
the  first  day  small  merchants  established   themselves  there 
and  beside  them  the  theatres  of  Mondor  and  Tabarin,  the 
spectacle  of  Desiderio  Descombes,  who  always  talked  so  as 
never  to   be   understood,  and   the   booth   of   the   charlatan 
Gonin,  to  whom  the   people   soon   gave   the   name  of  the 
cardinal-minister;     the    people     pretended    that     Richelieu 
juggled   at   least   as  well   as  Gonin ;  but  Richelieu's   balls 
were    the    heads    of  the    nobility !     It    was    to    the   Pont- 
Neuf  that  the  mountebanks  and  buffoons  came  to  try  their 
feats  of  agility  and  strength  before  an  attentive  throng. 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  51 

Moreover,  it  was  thither  that  the  singers  went  to  sing 
their  nbels^  songs  and  couplets  of  more  or  less  gallant  strain 
that  were  called  ponts-mufs  in  memory  of  the  stage  upon 
which  they  were  first  brought  out.  The  dentists,  cut- 
purses,  crimps,  highwaymen  and  pickpockets  for  a  long 
time  found  lucrative  employment  for  their  small  society  tal- 
ents upon  the  Pont-Neuf.  The  clerks  of  the  Basoche 
with  their  legal  bags  under  their  arms  mingled  there  with 
the  cadets  of  Gascony  with  their  swords  striking  against 
their  calves ;  the  abbes  of  the  court  passed  along  there  in 
their  sedan-chairs  and  the  equipages  of  great  nobles  going 
to  the  Louvre  passed  at  full  trot  with  their  four  horses. 

The  Pont-Neuf  is  supported  by  twelve  arches,  unequally 
divided  by  the  point  of  the  Cite :  seven  on  one  side  and 
five  on  the  other.  On  both  faces  and  throughout  its  length, 
it  is  ornamented  by  a  jutting  cornice  supported  by  brackets 
of  figures  of  masks,  fauns,  and  satyrs.  Some  of  them  are 
attributed  to  Germain  Pilon  for  the  sake  of  doing  them 
honour.  At  various  periods  great  works  of  reconstruction 
and  repair  have  been  undertaken  on  the  Pont-Neuf.  In 
1775  the  arches  were  lowered  and  the  open  space  between 
the  piers  was  narrowed  so  that  a  stronger  current  might 
carry  away  the  deposit  brought  down  by  the  river;  in  1820 
and  1825  the  slope  was  lessened  on  each  side; — in  1836 
and  1837  the  perpendicular  of  the  seven  arches  was  rees- 
tablished;  in  1853  "^"^^  1854  ^^  entire  bridge  was  taken  in 
hand ;  the  road  was  remade  and  raised  to  the  level  of  the 
abutting  streets ;  the  paths  on  each  side  reserved  for  pedes- 


52  PARIS 

trians  were  relaid  and  the  little  structures  on  the  piles,  the 
last  vestiges  of  the  houses  formerly  built  upon  the  Paris 
bridges,  were  done  away  with. 

The  statue  of  Henri  IV.  is  no  less  celebrated  than  the 
Pont-Neuf.     The  first  statue  of  the  king  of  triple  talent. 

De  boire  et  de  battre 
Et  d'iire  vert-galant, 

was  placed  by  Marie  de  Medicis  in  1614  upon  a  pedestal  of 
white  marble  opposite  the  Place  Dauphine,  at  the  extremity 
of  rile  de  la  Cite,  on  the  spot  where  it  makes  a  kind  of 
square  mole  half  overshadowed  with  trees.  At  the  four 
corners  of  the  pedestal  were  placed  trophies  of  arms  and 
slaves  in  bronze  symbolizing  the  four  quarters  of  the  world. 
Oceanica  had  not  yet  emerged  from  the  mists  of  the  Pacific. 
A  base  of  dark  blue  marble  bore  the  whole  monument. 
The  memory  of  Henri  IV.  will  remain  sacred  in  the  peo- 
ple's gratitude  as  in  a  temple.  For  two  centuries  his  statue 
was  the  object  of  a  culte  among  the  Parisians.  In  '92  the 
populace  of  the  Pont-Neuf  forced  passers-by  to  kneel  be- 
fore the  statue.  One  year  later  they  dragged  it  in  the  mire. 
It  was  melted  down  and  made  into  cannons.  On  the  re- 
turn of  the  Bourbons,  the  statue  of  Napoleon  in  its  turn 
was  thrown  down  from  the  column  of  the  Place  Vendome 
and  out  of  it  was  made  the  new  statue  of  Henri  IV.  The 
work  of  Lemot  happily  reproduces  the  lively  and  frank  ex- 
pression of  the  most  French  of  all  our  kings ;  the  bronze 
is  animated  and  alive  like  the  very  face  of  the  Bearnais ;  the 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  53 

gesture  is  at  once  noble  and  easy ;  the  horse  has  a  proud 
action. 

The  Samaritaine,  of  which  only  a  memory  now  remains, 
was  formerly  the  delight  and  the  adm.iration  of  our  fathers. 
The  Samaritaine,  placed  at  the  second  western  arch  on  the 
side  of  Quai  de  1'  Ecole,  was  a  monumental  pump  that  dis- 
tributed the  water  by  various  canals  into  the  Louvre,  the 
Tuileries  and  the  Palais  Royale.  It  was  constructed  under 
Henri  IV.  by  the  Fleming,  John  Lintlaer :  a  statue  of  the 
beautiful  sinner  of  Samaria  adorned  the  front  of  it :  she 
was  offering  water  to  Christ  to  drink  and  He  was  teaching 
her  whence  the  eternal  springs  flow. 

Too  complicated  not  to  need  frequent  repairs,  the  Samar- 
itaine was  reconstructed  in  1772.  The  monument  was 
composed  of  three  stages.  People  particularly  admired  the 
chiming  clock  below  which,  as  we  have  said,  a  group  in 
gilded  lead  represented  Christ  and  the  Samaritan  on  the 
edge  of  Jacob's  well.  Jacob's  well  was  represented  by  a 
basin  receiving  a  stream  of  water  falling  from  a  shell.  It 
was  not  precisely  in  local  colour  but  one  does  what  one 
can.  Below  the  figures  might  be  read  as  an  inscription 
these  words  of  the  Scripture  so  often  applied  to  Christ. 

Fans  hortum^  putens  aquarum  viventium. 

Before  the  Revolution,  the  Samaritaine,  considered  as  a 
royal  house,  had  its  particular  government :  the  Revolution 
suppressed  the  government;  in  1813  the  pump,  a  useless 
ornament    to   the   Pont-Neuf  and  one   whose   memory   is 


54  PARIS 

fading  away  daily,  was  demolished.  One  more  glory  de- 
parted ! 

We  shall  soon  have  finished  our  voyage  now,  and  the 
boat  that  carries  us  will  only  have  to  follow  the  course  of 
the  water. 

In  vain,  on  my  left,  the  Hotel  des  Monnaies  sounds  its 
tempting  pieces ;  I  will  not  listen  to  the  silver  voices  ;  I 
mention  it  and  will  not  land ;  what's  the  use  ?  Nothing 
tempts  me  in  that  heavy  facade ;  one  would  call  it  a  prison 
much  rather  than  a  palace.  The  Hotel  des  Monnaies 
stands  on  the  site  of  the  old  Conti  mansion ;  the  abbe  Ter- 
ray,  comptroller-general  of  the  finances,  laid  its  first  stone 
in  the  name  of  the  King,  May  30,  1771.  It  was  finished 
in  four  years.  We  pass  before  its  principal  front  that  ex- 
tends along  the  quay  between  the  Rue  Guenegaud  and  the 
Institute. 

A  little  farther  on  we  see  the  palace  of  the  Institute,  the 
central  door  of  which  faces  the  Pont  des  Arts  and  the 
southern  gate  of  the  court  of  the  Louvre.  The  facade  of 
the  palace  of  the  Institute  has  had  the  mistake  and  misfor- 
tune to  be  placed  opposite  to  the  most  admirable  portion  of 
the  Louvre  and  thus  to  provoke  comparison  that  is  crushing 
to  it. 

Cardinal  Mazarin  ordered  in  his  will  of  March  6,  1661, 
that  a  part  of  his  great  wealth  should  be  employed  in  the 
foundation  of  a  college  for  sixty  youths,  sons  of  the  nobility 
or  the  principal  citizens  of  Pignerolles,  of  the  ecclesiastical 
State,  of  Alsace,  of  Flanders  and  of  Roussillon.     The  offi- 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  S5 

cial  deeds  gave  this  college  the  title  of  the  College  Maz- 
arin ;  the  people  called  it  the  college  of  the  Four  Nations. 
It  was  built  on  the  site  of  the  Hotel  de  Nesle  j  Louis  Le- 
veau  drew  up  the  plans,  the  execution  of  which  was  en- 
trusted to  the  architects  Lambert  and  d'Orbay. 

During  the  Revolution,  the  college  of  the  Four  Nations 
at  first  became  a  jail ;  a  little  later  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  held  its  sittings  there.  On  the  third  Brumaire  year 
v.,  the  Institute  was  solemnly  installed  there.  The  old  acad- 
emies sat  at  the  Louvre  :  they  had  only  the  Seine  to  cross. 

The  principal  front,  looking  on  the  quay,  is  in  the  form 
of  a  hemicycle  ;  it  is  composed  of  a  forepart,  the  decora- 
tion of  which  is  a  Corinthian  order  very  heavy  like  all  that 
is  seen  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river ; — on  each  side  the  two 
wings  curve  outward  towards  the  ground  on  the  margin  of 
the  water;  the  forepart  that  forms  a  doorway  is  crowned 
by  a  pediment  and  surmounted  by  a  circular  dome,  itself 
terminated  by  a  lantern.  One  of  the  architectural  singu- 
larities of  this  dome  is  that  externally  it  presents  a  circular 
form,  and  internally  an  elliptical  form.  On  each  side  of 
the  perron,  two  lions  of  cast  metal  discharge  a  feeble  jet  of 
water  into  a  stone  trough.  These  poor  lions  which  regret 
the  desert  have  a  look  of  terrible  ennui ;  you  would  say 
that  they  can  hear  what  is  being  said  inside.  The  two 
semicircular  wings  unite  the  doorway  to  two  very  massive 
pavilions  supported  by  arcades.  The  dome  is  lofty,  but 
without  grace  or  elegance.  This  palace  is  one  of  the  worst 
things  in  Paris. 


56  PARIS 

Our  boat  now  goes  under  the  elevated  piles  of  the  Pont 
des  Arts.  It  was  built  in  1802.  For  a  long  time  people 
paid  a  sou  to  go  from  the  Louvre  to  the  Institute.  The 
Republic  liberated  the  Pont  des  Arts  from  this  servitude  ; 
this  is  one  of  the  most  durable  things  it  did.  Three  blind 
men  ornament  the  Pont  des  Arts:  the  first  is  knitting 
socks,  the  second  is  scraping  a  violin,  and  the  third  is 
producing  couacs  on  his  clarinet  while  attempting  I  know 
not  what  air  that  he  can  never  finish  ;  his  little  dog  beside 
him  growls  at  him  in  a  low  tone ;  but  the  poor  blind  man, 
who  plays  on  as  if  he  were  deaf,  does  not  hear  her  and  be- 
gins again.  The  dog  and  the  three  blind  men,  inseparable 
habitues  of  the  Pont  des  Arts,  are  considered  as  immeuhles 
par  destination}  It  is  on  the  Pont  des  Arts  that  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain  sees  the  blossoming  of  the  first  violet 
of  Spring. 

The  bridges  succeed  and  approach  one  another;  from 
afar  you  would  say  that  they  touched;  but  the  crowd 
thronging  them  seems  to  require  more  of  them ;  look  at 
the  Pont  Royal,  opposite  the  Tuileries  and  the  Rue  de 
Bac ;  it  is  almost  impassable  :  horsemen  collide,  pedestrians 
elbow  each  other,  and  carriages  get  locked  fast  by  their 
axles.  But  what  a  charming  view,  what  a  varied  pano- 
rama, what  changing  pictures  !  On  one  side,  the  old  Cite, 
motionless  in  the  midst  of  the  river  surrounding  it,  like  a 
ship  at  anchor ;  close  to  us  the  grand  lines  of  the  Louvre, 

1  (Law)  animal,  thing  placed  on  property  by  the  proprietor  for  the  use 
or  enjoyment  thereof. 


ALONG  THE  SEINE  57 

and  in  that  noble  garden  a  multitude  of  statues  and  a  forest 
of  orange-trees ;  then,  yonder,  on  the  distant  horizon,  be- 
tween the  Bois  and  the  Champs-Elysees,  the  Arc-de- 
I'Etoile,  a  mountain  of  sculptures  emerging  from  the  green 
ocean  of  foliage  :  all  this  panoramic  view  is  beautiful  by 
day  ;  at  night  it  is  splendid  when  a  thousand  lights  are  re- 
flected in  the  Seine  in  long  trembling  lines,  and  when  above 
all  these  rays  the  towers  of  Saint-Jacques  and  Notre-Dame 
lift  their  solid  and  sombre  masses.  But  meanwhile  what 
are  those  people  perched  on  the  parapet  doing  ?  They  are 
watching  the  water  flow  past  and  they  are  counting  the  de- 
grees measured  by  the  rise  of  the  waters  on  the  scale  of 
the  bridge.  The  scale  of  the  bridge  of  the  Tuileries,  the 
thermometer  of  the  Pont-Neuf  and  the  cannon  of  the 
Palais-Royale, — those  are  the  three  favourite  distractions  of 
the  middle-class  Parisian. 

The  great  trees  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries  now  cast 
their  shadow  and  freshness  upon  the  river  which  washes 
flowery  terraces,  the  great  Jerusalem  barracks,  and  the 
d'Orsay  palace  on  the  left  bank,  and  finally  reaches  the 
Pont  de  la  Concorde  widowed  of  its  warrior  statues  that 
King  Louis  Philippe  had  removed  to  the  big  court  of  Ver- 
sailles. At  last  there  remains  that  palace  neighbourhood 
that  will  not  be  taken  away  from  it :  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  the  Presidency,  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Aff'airs, 
and,  above  all,  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  with  its  statues, 
fountains,  obelisk,  the  great  buildings  of  the  Garde-Meu- 
bles,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  Rue  Royale,  as  if  worthily  to 


58  PARIS 

close  this  perspective  in  which  marvels  form  a  scale,  the 
church  of  the  Madeleine. 

Now  we  proceed  between  the  majestic  quays  d'Orsay,  de 
Billy,  and  de  la  Conference,  seeing  promenaders  upon  the 
Fonts  des  Invalides,  de  I'Alma,  or  d'lena. 

This  bridge  of  lena,  that  connects  the  Champ  de  Mars 
with  the  Champs-Elysees  is  embellished  with  a  grandiose 
decoration.  At  each  of  its  four  angles  is  a  colossal  group 
of  men  and  horses  representing  the  great  warlike  races  of 
the  ancient  world,  the  Greeks,  Romans,  Gauls  and  Arabs. 
These  must  be  viewed  from  a  little  distance  and  in  the 
perspective  demanded  by  the  works  of  decorative  art.  The 
Gallic  group,  by  the  strong  hand  of  Preault,  of  all  the  four 
best  answers  the  exigencies  of  monumental  sculpture.  ^ 

>  The  bridges  of  to-day  are  as  follows :  Pont  National ;  Pont  de  Tol- 
biac  ;  Pont  de  Percy ;  Pont  d'  Austerlitz ;  Pont  Sully ;  Pont  Marie  ;  Pont 
Louis  Philippe;  Pont  de  la  Tournelle;  Pont  Saint-Louis;  Pont  d'  Arcole; 
Pont  Notre-Dame ;  Pont-au-Change ;  Pont  de  1'  Archeveche ;  Pont  au 
Double;  Petit-Pont;  Pont  Saint-Michel;  Pont-Neuf;  Pont  des  Arts;  Pont 
des  Saints-Peres  or  du  Carrousel;  Pont  Royale ;  Pont  de  Solferino;  Pont 
de  la  Concorde;  Pont  Alexandre  IIL;  Pont  des  Invalides;  Pont  de  P 
Alma;  Pont  de  lena;  Pont  de  Passy;  Pont  de  Crenelle;  Pont  Mira- 
beau ;  Pont  Viaduc  d'  Auteuil  or  Pon  du  Point  du  Jour.  The  newest 
bridge  is  the  Pont  Alexandre  IIL  the  corner-stone  of  which  was  laid  by 
Nicholas  III.  of  Russia  in  October,  1896.  It  joins  the  Champs-Elysees  to 
the  Esplanade  des  Invalides. — E.  S. 


SAlNTE-CHAPELLE. 


SAINTE-CHAPELLE 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 

THE  origin  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle  is  probably  known 
already  to  most  of  my  readers.  It  is  nothing 
more  than  a  large  stone  shrine  to  contain  relics. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  joy  of  Saint-Louis  when  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  have  become  the  possessor  of  the  real 
crown  of  thorns  and  a  large  piece  of  the  true  cross.  He 
bought  them  at  a  very  high  price  from  the  Emperor  of 
Constantinople/  and  held  them  in  such  reverence  that  he 
and  his  brother,  the  Count  of  Artois,  carried  them  in  their 
receptacle  on  their  shoulders,  (probably  as  a  palanquin  is 
carried),  walking  barefooted  through  the  streets  of  Sens  and 
Paris ;  such  was  the  thoroughness  of  the  King's  faith  and 
his  humility  towards  the  objects  of  his  veneration. 

These  feelings  led  Saint-Louis  to  give  orders  for  the 
erection  of  a  chapel  in  which  the  relics  were  to  be  preserved, 
and  he  commanded  Peter  of  Montereau  to  build  it,  which 
Peter  did  very  speedily,  as  the  King  laid  the  first  stone  in 
1245,    and    the    edifice    was    consecrated   in   April,    1248. 

'  Some  say  that  the  crown  of  thorns  was  purchased  from  John  of 
Brienne,  the  Emperor,  and  the  piece  of  the  true  cross  from  Baldwin  II., 
his  successor ;  others  say  that  both  were  purchased  from  Baldwin  II. 
The  cost  to  Saint-Louis,  including  the  reliquaries,  is  said  to  have  been 
two  millions  of  livres.  So  far  as  the  King's  happiness  was  concerned,  the 
money  could  not  have  been  better  spent. 

59 


6o  PARIS 

There  are  two  chapels,  a  low  one  on  the  ground-floor  and 
a  lofty  one  above  it ;  so  both  were  consecrated  simultane- 
ously by  different  prelates,  the  upper  one  being  dedicated  to 
the  Holy  Crown  and  the  Holy  Cross,  the  other  to  the 
Virgin  Mary. 

Considering  the  rapidity  of  the  work  done,  it  is  remark- 
able that  it  should  be,  as  it  is,  of  exceptionally  excellent 
quality,  considered  simply  with  reference  to  handicraft  and  to 
the  materials  employed.  The  stone  is  all  hard  and  carefully 
selected,  while  each  course  is  fixed  with  clamp-irons  imbed- 
ded in  lead,  and  the  fitting  of  the  stones,  according  to 
Viollet-le-Duc,  is  "  d'une  precision  rai'e." 

Like  Notre-Dame,  the  Sainte-Chapelle  has  undergone 
thorough  and  careful  restoration  in  the  present  century.  For 
those  who  blame  such  restorations  indiscriminately,  I  will  give 
a  short  description  of  the  state  of  the  building  when  it  was 
placed  in  the  restorer's  hands.  It  had  been  despoiled  at  the 
Revolution  and  was  used  as  a  magazine  for  law-papers.  The 
spire  had  been  totally  destroyed,  the  roof  was  in  bad  repair, 
sculpture  injured  or  removed,  the  internal  decoration 
mostly  effaced,  the  stained  glass  removed  from  the  lower 
part  of  the  windows  to  a  height  of  three  feet,  and  the  rest 
patched  with  fragments  regardless  of  subject.  The  chapel 
was  an  unvalued  survival  of  the  past,  falling  rapidly  into  com- 
plete decay,  and  is  surrounded  by  the  modern  buildings  of  the 
law  courts,  so  its  isolation  made  total  destruction  probable. 
There  had  been  a  time  when  the  Sainte-Chapelle  had  been 
in   more    congenial   company.     The    delightfully  fanciful 


SAINTE-CHAPELLE  61 

and  picturesque  old  Cour  des  Comptes  had  been  built  under 
Louis  XII.  (1504),  on  the  southwest  side,  and  there  was  the 
great  Gothic  Cour  de  Mai,  and,  finally,  the  Great  Hall  on 
the  north.  Not  only  that,  but  there  was  the  Tresor  des 
Chartes,  attached  to  the  south  side  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle, 
itself  a  treasure,  almost  a  miniature  of  the  glorious  chapel, 
with  its  own  little  apse  and  windows,  and  high  pitched 
roof.  All  these  treasures  of  architecture  were  gone  forever, 
replaced  by  dull,  prosaic  building ;  the  Sainte-Chapelle 
served  no  purpose  that  any  dry  attic  would  not  have  served 
equally  well,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  be  destroyed  like  the  rest.  The  decision  was 
to  restore  it,  and  give  it  a  special  destination  where  the  law- 
yers might  hear  the  mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  work 
was  done  thoroughly  and  carefully  by  learned  and  accom- 
plished men.  M.  Lassus  designed  a  new  spire,^  an  exquis- 
itely beautiful  work  of  art,  much  more  elegant  than  its 
predecessor.  Still  to  appreciate  the  new  spire  properly,  one 
needs  an  architectural  drawing  on  a  large  scale,  like  that  in 
the  monograph  by  Guilhermy.  It  is  of  oak,  covered  with 
lead,  with  two  open  arcades.  There  are  pinnacles  between 
the  gables  of  the  upper  arcade,  and  on  these  pinnacles  are 
eight  angels  with  high,  folded  wings  and  trumpets.  Near 
the  roof  are  figures  of  the  twelve  apostles.  All  along  the 
roof-ridge  runs  an  open  crest-work,  and  at  the  point  over 

1  The  spire  by  Lassus  is  the  fourth.  The  first  by  Pierre  de  Montereau, 
became  unsafe  from  old  age;  the  second  was  burnt  in  1630;  the  third 
was  destroyed  in  the  great  Revolution. 


62  PARIS 

the  apse  stands  an  angel  with  a  cross.  All  these  things, 
judiciously  enlivened  by  gilding,  with  the  present  high  pitch 
of  the  roof,  add  greatly  to  the  poetical  impression,  especially 
when  seen  in  brilliant  sunshine  against  an  azure  sky. 

Thanks  to  the  restorers,  the  interior  of  the  chapel  once 
more  produces  the  effect  of  harmonious  splendour  which 
belonged  to  it  in  the  days  of  Saint-Louis.  Of  all  the 
Gothic  edifices  I  have  ever  visited,  this  one  seems  to  me 
most  pre-eminently  a  visible  poem.  It  is  hardly  of  this 
world,  it  hardly  belongs  to  the  dull  realities  of  life.  Most 
buildings  are  successful  only  in  parts,  so  that  we  say  to 
ourselves,  "  Ah,  if  all  had  been  equal  to  that  !  "  or  else  we 
meet  with  some  shocking  incongruity  that  spoils  everything ; 
but  here  the  motive,  which  is  that  of  perfect  splendour,  is 
maintained  without  flaw  or  failure  anywhere.  The  archi- 
tect made  his  windows  as  large  and  lofty  as  he  could  (there 
is  hardly  any  wall,  its  work  being  done  by  buttresses) ;  and 
he  took  care  that  the  stonework  should  be  as  light  and  ele- 
gant as  possible,  after  which  he  filled  it  with  a  vast  jewelry 
of  painted  glass.  Every  inch  of  wall  is  illuminated  like  a 
missal,  and  so  delicately  that  some  of  the  illuminations  are 
repeated  of  the  real  size  in  Guilhermy's  monograph. 
When  we  become  somewhat  accustomed  to  the  universal 
splendour  (which  from  the  subdued  light  is  by  no  means 
crude  or  painful),  we  begin  to  perceive  that  the  windows 
are  full  of  little  pictorial  compositions  ;  and  if  we  have  time 
to  examine  them,  there  is  occupation  for  us,  as  the  windows 
contain  more  than  a  thousand  of  these  pictures.     Thanks 


SAINTE-CHAPELLE  63 

to  the  care  of  M.  Guilhermy,  they  have  been  set  in  order 
again.  The  most  interesting  among  them,  for  us,  on  ac- 
count of  the  authenticity  of  the  historical  details,  is  the 
window  which  illustrates  the  translation  of  the  relics. 
Here  we  have  the  men  of  the  time  of  Saint-Louis  on  land 
and  sea.  In  the  other  windows  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments are  illustrated.  Genesis  takes  ninety-one  composi- 
tions, Exodus  a  hundred  and  twenty-one,  and  so  on,  each 
window  having  its  own  history.^ 

There  are  four  broad  windows  in  each  side,  though  from 
the  exterior  two  of  these  look  slightly  narrower  because 
they  are  somewhat  masked  by  the  west  turrets.  The  apse 
is  lighted  by  five  narrower  windows,  and  there  are  two,  the 
narrowest  of  all,  which  separate  the  apse  from  the  nave. 

In  the  time  of  Henri  II.  a  very  mistaken  project  was 
carried  into  execution.  A  marble  screen,  with  altars  set  up 
against  it,  was  built  across  the  body  of  the  chapel  so  as  to 
divide  it,  up  to  a  certain  height,  into  two  parts.  Happily, 
this  exists  no  longer. 

The  original  intention  of  Louis  IX.  when  he  built  the 
Sainte-Chapelle,  was  that  the  upper  chapel   should  be  re- 

>  The  only  thing  in  the  Sainte-Chapelle  which  can  be  considered  any 
degree  incongruous  with  the  unity  of  the  first  design  is  the  rose-window 
at  the  west  end,  which  was  erected  by  Charles  VIII.,  near  the  close  of  the 
Fifteenth  Century.  The  flamboyant  tracery  is  of  a  restless  character,  all 
in  very  strong  curves,  and  the  glass  is  quite  difterent  from  the  gorgeous 
jewel-mosaics  of  the  time  of  Saint-Louis.  The  subjects  are  all  from  the 
Apocalypse.  However,  this  window  inflicts  little  injury  or.  the  general 
eff"ect  of  the  chapel,  as  the  visitor  is  under  it  when  he  enters,  and  is  iso- 
lated from  the  rest.     In  service  time  everybody  has  his  back  to  it. 


64  PARIS 

served  for  the  sovereign  and  the  royal  house,  while  the 
lower  one  was  for  the  officers  of  inferior  degree.  The 
king's  chapel  was  on  a  level  with  his  apartments  in  the 
palace,  so  that  he  walked  to  it  without  using  stairs.  The 
lower  chapel  has  now  been  completely  decorated  like  the 
upper  one,  on  the  principles  of  illumination.  It  is  beautiful, 
but  comparatively  heavy  and  crypt-like,  and  the  decoration 
looks  more  crude,  perhaps  because  the  vault  is  so  much 
lower  and  nearer  the  eye.  A  curious  detail  may  be  men- 
tioned in  connection  with  the  religious  services  in  the 
Sainte-Chapelle.  They  were  of  a  sumptuous  description, 
as  the  "  treasurer,"  who  was  the  chief  priest,  wore  the 
mitre  and  ring,  had  pontifical  rank,  and  was  subject  only 
to  the  Pope.  He  was  assisted  in  the  services  by  one 
chanter,  twelve  canons,  nineteen  chaplains,  and  thirteen 
clerks.  When  Saint-Louis  dwelt  in  his  royal  house  close 
by  and  came  to  the  Sainte-Chapelle,  the  place  must  have 
presented  such  a  concentration  of  mediaeval  splendour  as 
was  never  seen  elsewhere  in  such  narrow  limits.  His  en- 
thusiasm may  seem  superstitious  to  us,  but  he  endeavoured 
earnestly  to  make  himself  a  perfect  king  according  to  the 
lights  of  his  time,  so  that  his  splendid  chapel  is  associated 
with  the  memory  of  a  human  soul  as  sound  and  honest  as 
its  handicrafts,  as  beautiful  as  its  art. 


THE  CATHEDRAL   OF   NOTRE-DAME. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  NOTRE-DAME 

VICTOR  HUGO 

MOST  certainly,  the  Cathedral  of  Notre-Dame 
is  still  a  sublime  and  majestic  edifice.  But, 
despite  the  beauty  which  it  preserves  in  its 
old  age,  it  would  be  impossible  not  to  be  indignant  at  the 
injuries  and  mutilations  which  Time  and  man  have  jointly 
inflicted  upon  the  venerable  structure  without  respect  for 
Charlemagne,  who  laid  its  first  stone,  and  Philippe  Auguste, 
who  laid  its  last. 

There  is  always  a  scar  beside  a  wrinkle  on  the  face  of 
this  aged  queen  of  our  cathedrals.  Tempus  edax  homo 
edacior^  which  I  should  translate  thus :  Time  is  blind, 
man  is  stupid. 

If  we  had  leisure  to  examine  one  by  one,  with  the 
reader,  the  various  traces  of  destruction  imprinted  on  the 
old  church.  Time's  work  would  prove  to  be  less  destruc- 
tive than  men's,  especially  des  homrnei  de  T art^  because  there 
have  been  some  individuals  in  the  last  two  centuries  who 
considered  themselves  architects. 

First,  to  cite  several  striking  examples,  assuredly  there 
are  few  more  beautiful  pages  in  architecture  than  that 
facade,  exhibiting  the  three  deeply-dug  porches  with  their 
pointed  arches ;  the  plinth,  embroidered  and  indented  with 
twenty-eight    royal    niches ;    the    immense    central    rose- 

65 


66  PARIS 

window,  flanked  by  its  two  lateral  windows,  like  the  priest 
by  his  deacon  and  sub-deacon ;  the  high  and  frail  gallery 
of  open-worked  arches,  supporting  on  its  delicate  columns 
a  heavy  platform  ;  and,  lastly,  the  two  dark  and  massive 
towers,  with  their  slated  pent-houses.  These  harmonious 
parts  of  a  magnificent  whole,  superimposed  in  five  gigantic 
stages,  and  presenting,  with  their  innumerable  details  of 
statuary,  sculpture,  and  carving,  an  overwhelming  yet  not 
perplexing  mass,  combine  in  producing  a  calm  grandeur. 
It  is  a  vast  symphony  in  stone,  so  to  speak;  the  colossal 
work  of  man  and  of  a  nation,  as  united  and  as  complex  as 
the  Iliad  and  the  romanceros  of  which  it  is  the  sister ;  a  pro- 
digious production  to  which  all  the  forces  of  an  epoch  con- 
tributed, and  from  every  stone  of  which  springs  forth  in  a 
hundred  ways  the  workman's  fancy  directed  by  the  artist's 
genius;  in  one  word,  a  kind  of  human  creation,  as  strong 
and  fecund  as  the  divine  creation  from  which  it  seems  to 
have  stolen  the  twofold  character :  variety  and  eternity. 

And  what  I  say  here  of  the  facade,  must  be  said  of  the 
entire  Cathedral ;  and  what  I  say  of  the  Cathedral  of  Paris, 
must  be  said  of  all  the  Mediaeval  Christian  churches. 
Everything  in  this  art,  which  proceeds  from  itself,  is  so 
logical  and  well-proportioned  that  to  measure  the  toe  of 
the  foot  is  to  measure  the  giant. 

Let  us  return  to  the  facade  of  Notre-Dame,  as  it  exists 
to-day  when  we  go  reverently  to  admire  the  solemn  and 
mighty  Cathedral,  which,  according  to  the  old  chroniclers, 
was  terrifying :   qua  mole  sua  terror  em  incutit  spectantibus. 


CATHEDRAL  OF  NOTRE-DAME      67 

That  fa9ade  now  lacks  three  important  things :  first,  the 
flight  of  eleven  steps,  which  raised  it  above  the  level  of  the 
ground ;  then,  the  lower  row  of  statues  which  occupied  the 
niches  of  the  three  porches ;  and  the  upper  row  ^  of  the 
twenty-eight  ancient  kings  of  France  which  ornamented 
the  gallery  of  the  first  story,  beginning  with  Childebert  and 
ending  with  Philippe  Auguste,  holding  in  his  hand  "  la  pomme 
imperiale" 

Time  in  its  slow  and  unchecked  progress,  raising  the 
level  of  the  city's  soil,  buried  the  steps;  but  whilst  the 
pavement  of  Paris  like  a  rising  tide  has  engulfed  one 
by  one  the  eleven  steps  which  added  to  the  majestic 
height  of  the  edifice.  Time  has  given  to  the  church  more, 
perhaps,  than  it  has  stolen,  for  it  is  Time  that  has  spread 
that  sombre  hue  of  centuries  on  the  facade  which  makes 
the  old  age  of  buildings  their  period  of  beauty. 

But  who  has  thrown  down  those  two  rows  of  statues  ? 
Who  has  left  the  niches  empty  ?  Who  has  cut  that  new 
and  bastard  arch  in  the  beautiful  middle  of  the  central 
porch  ?  Who  has  dared  to  frame  that  tasteless  and  heavy 
wooden  door  carved  a  la  Louis  XV.  near  Biscornette's 
arabesques  ?  The  men,  the  architects,  the  artists  of  our 
day. 

And  when  we  enter  the  edifice,  who  has  overthrown 
that  colossal  Saint  Christopher,  proverbial  among  statues  as 
the  grand^  salle  du  Palais  among  halls,  or  the  Jieche  of  Stras- 

1  The  outside  of  Notre-Dame  has  been  restored  since  Victor  Hugo 
wrote  his  famous  romance. — E.  S. 


68  PARIS 

burg  among  steeples  ?  And  those  myriads  of  statues  that 
peopled  all  the  spaces  between  the  columns  of  the  nave  and 
choir,  kneeling,  standing,  on  horseback,  men,  women,  chil- 
dren, kings,  bishops,  gens  d'  amies  in  stone,  wood,  marble, 
gold,  silver,  copper,  and  even  wax, — who  has  brutally 
swept  them  away  ?     It  was  not  Time  ! 

And  who  has  substituted  for  the  old  Gothic  altar,  splen- 
didly overladen  with  shrines  and  reliquaries,  that  heavy 
marble  sarcophagus  with  its  angels'  heads  and  clouds,  which 
seems  to  be  a  sample  from  the  Val-de-Grace  or  the  Inva- 
lides?  Who  has  so  stupidly  imbedded  that  heavy  stone 
anachronism  in  Hercanduc's  Carlovingian  pavement  ?  Is 
it  not  Louis  XIV.  fulfilling  the  vow  of  Louis  XIII.  \ 

And  who  has  put  cold  white  glass  in  the  place  of  those 
richly-coloured  panes,  which  made  the  astonished  gaze  of 
our  ancestors  pause  between  the  rose  of  the  great  porch 
and  the  pointed  arches  of  the  apsis  ?  What  would  an  under- 
chorister  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  say  if  he  could  see  the 
beautiful  yellow  plaster  with  which  our  vandal  archbishops 
have  daubed  their  Cathedral?  He  would  remember  that 
this  was  the  colour  with  which  the  executioner  brushed  the 
houses  of  traitors  ;  he  would  remember  the  Hotel  du  Petit- 
Bourbon,  all  besmeared  thus  with  yellow,  on  account  of  the 
treason  of  the  Constable,  "  yellow  of  such  good  quality," 
says  Sauval,  "  and  so  well  laid  on  that  more  than  a  century 
has  scarcely  caused  its  colour  to  fade ;  "  and,  imagining 
that  the  holy  place  had  become  infamous,  he  would  flee 
from  it. 


CATHEDRAL  OF  NOTRE-DAME      69 

And  if  we  ascend  the  Cathedral  without  stopping  to 
notice  the  thousand  barbarities  of  all  kinds,  what  has  been 
done  with  that  charming  little  bell-tower,  which  stood  over 
the  point  of  intersection  of  the  transept,  and  which,  neither 
less  frail  nor  less  bold  than  its  neighbour,  the  steeple  of  the 
Sainte-Chapelle  (also  destroyed),  shot  up  into  the  sky,  sharp, 
harmonious,  and  open-worked,  higher  than  the  other 
towers  ?  It  was  amputated  by  an  architect  of  good  taste 
(1787),  who  thought  it  sufficient  to  cover  the  wound  with 
that  large  plaster  of  lead,  which  looks  like  the  lid  of  a  pot. 

This  is  the  way  the  wonderful  art  of  the  Middle  Ages 
has  been  treated  in  all  countries,  particularly  in  France.  In 
this  ruin  we  may  distinguish  three  separate  agencies,  which 
have  affected  it  in  different  degrees  ;  first.  Time  which  has 
insensibly  chipped  it,  here  and  there,  and  discoloured  its 
entire  surface ;  next,  revolutions,  both  political  and  religious, 
which,  being  blind  and  furious  by  nature,  rushed  wildly 
upon  it,  stripped  it  of  its  rich  garb  of  sculptures  and  carv- 
ings, shattered  its  tracery,  broke  its  garlands  of  arabesques 
and  its  figurines,  and  threw  down  its  statues,  sometimes  on 
account  of  their  mitres,  sometimes  on  account  of  their 
crowns;  and,  finally,  the  fashions,  which,  ever  since  the 
anarchistic  and  splendid  innovations  of  the  Renaissance, 
have  been  constantly  growing  more  grotesque  and  foolish, 
and  have  succeeded  in  bringing  about  the  decadence  of 
architecture.  The  fashions  have  indeed  done  more  harm 
than  the  revolutions.  They  have  cut  it  to  the  quick ;  they 
have  attacked  the  framework  of  art ;  they  have  cut,  hacked, 


70  PARIS 

and  mutilated  the  form  of  the  building  as  well  as  its  symbol ; 
its  logic  as  well  as  its  beauty.  And  then  they  have  re- 
stored, a  presumption  of  which  time  and  revolutions  were, 
at  least,  guiltless.  In  the  name  of  good  taste  they  have  in- 
solently covered  the  wounds  of  Gothic  architecture  with 
their  paltry  gew-gaws  of  a  day,  their  marble  ribbons,  their 
metal  pompons,  a  veritable  leprosy  of  oval  ornaments, 
volutes,  spirals,  draperies,  garlands,  fringes,  flames  of  stone, 
clouds  of  bronze,  over-fat  Cupids,  and  bloated  cherubim, 
which  begin  to  eat  into  the  face  of  art  in  Catherine  de 
Medicis's  oratory,  and  kill  it,  writhing  and  grinning  in  the 
boudoir  of  the  Dubarry,  two  centuries  later. 

Therefore,  in  summing  up  the  points  to  which  I  have 
called  attention,  three  kinds  of  ravages  disfigure  Gothic 
architecture  to-day  :  wrinkles  and  warts  on  the  epidermis 
— these  are  the  work  of  Time ;  wounds,  bruises  and 
fractures, — these  are  the  work  of  revolutions  from  Luther 
to  Mirabeau ;  mutijations,  amputations,  dislocations  of 
members,  restorations^ — these  are  the  Greek  and  Roman 
work  of  professors,  according  to  Vitruvius  and  Vignole. 
That  magnificent  art  which  the  Vandals  produced,  acad- 
emies have  murdered.  To  the  ravages  of  centuries  and 
revolutions,  which  devastated  at  least  with  impartiality  and 
grandeur,  were  added  those  of  a  host  of  school  architects, 
patented  and  sworn,  who  debased  everything  with  the 
choice  and  discernment  of  bad  taste ;  and  who  substituted 
the  chicor'ees  of  Louis  XV.  for  the  Gothic  lacework  for  the 
greater  glory  of  the  Parthenon.     It  is  the  ass's  kick  to  the 


CATHEDRAL  OF  NOTRE-DAME      71 

dying  lion.  It  is  the  old  oak  crowning  itself  with  leaves 
for  the  reward  of  being  bitten,  gnawed,  and  devoured  by 
caterpillars. 

How  far  this  is  from  the  period  when  Robert  Cenalis, 
comparing  Notre-Dame  de  Paris  with  the  famous  Temple 
of  Diana  at  Ephesus,  so  highly  extolled  by  the  ancient 
heathen,  which  has  immortalized  Erostratus,  found  the 
Gaulois  cathedral  '■'•  plus  excellente  en  longueur^  largeur^ 
hauteur^  et  structure." 

Notre-Dame  de  Paris  is  not,  however,  what  may  be 
called  a  finished,  defined,  classified  monument.  It  is  not 
a  Roman  church,  neither  is  it  a  Gothic  church.  This 
edifice  is  not  a  type.  Notre-Dame  has  not,  like  the  Abbey 
of  Tournus,  the  solemn  and  massive  squareness,  the  round 
and  large  vault,  the  glacial  nudity,  and  the  majestic  sim- 
plicity of  those  buildings  which  have  the  circular  arch  for 
their  generative  principle.  It  is  not,  like  the  Cathedral  of 
Bourges,  the  magnificent  product  of  light,  multiform,  tufted, 
bristling,  efflorescent  Gothic.  It  is  out  of  the  question  to 
class  it  in  that  ancient  family  of  gloomy,  mysterious,  low 
churches,  which  seem  crushed  by  the  circular  arch ;  almost 
Egyptian  in  their  ceiling;  quite  hieroglyphic,  sacerdotal, 
and  symbolic,  charged  in  their  ornaments  with  more 
lozenges  and  zigzags  than  flowers,  more  flowers  than 
animals,  more  animals  than  human  figures ;  the  work  of 
the  bishop  more  than  the  architect,  the  first  transformatiofi 
of  the  art,  fully  impressed  with  theocratic  and  military 
discipline,   which   takes  its   root   in   the    Bas-Empire,   and 


72  PARIS 

ends  with  William  the  Conqueror.  It  is  also  out  of  the 
question  to  place  our  Cathedral  in  that  other  family  of 
churches,  tall,  aerial,  rich  in  windows  and  sculpture,  sharp 
in  form,  bold  of  mien ;  communales  and  bourgeois^  like  polit- 
ical symbols  j  free,  capricious,  unbridled,  like  works  of  art ; 
the  second  transformation  of  architecture,  no  longer  hiero- 
glyphic, immutable,  and  sacerdotal,  but  artistic,  progressive, 
and  popular,  which  begins  with  the  return  from  the  Cru- 
sades and  ends  with  Louis  XI.  Notre-Dame  de  Paris  is 
not  pure  Roman,  like  the  former,  nor  is  it  pure  Arabian, 
like  the  latter. 

It  is  an  edifice  of  the  transition.  The  Saxon  architect 
had  set  up  the  first  pillars  of  the  nave  when  the  Crusaders 
■  introduced  the  pointed  arch,  which  enthroned  itself  like  a 
conqueror  upon  those  broad  Roman  capitals  designed  to 
support  circular  arches.  On  the  pointed  arch,  thenceforth 
mistress  of  all  styles,  the  rest  of  the  church  was  built.  In- 
experienced and  timid  at  the  beginning,  it  soon  broadens 
and  expands,  but  does  not  yet  dare  to  shoot  up  into  steeples 
and  pinnacles,  as  it  has  since  done  in  so  many  marvellous 
cathedrals.  You  might  say  that  it  feels  the  influence  of  its 
neighbours,  the  heavy  Roman  pillars. 

Moreover,  these  edifices  of  the  transition  from  the 
Roman  to  the  Gothic  are  not  less  valuable  for  study  than 
pure  types.  They  express  a  nuance  of  the  art  which  would 
be  lost  but  for  them.  This  is  the  engrafting  of  the  pointed 
upon  the  circular  arch. 

Notre-Dame  de  Paris  is  a  particularly  curious  specimen 


CATHEDRAL  OF  NOTRE-DAME      73 

of  this  variety.  Every  face  and  every  stone  of  the  vener- 
able structure  is  a  page  not  only  of  the  history  of  the  coun- 
try, but  also  of  art  and  science.  Therefore  to  glance  here 
only  at  the  principal  details,  vi^hile  the  little  Porte  Rouge 
attains  almost  to  the  limits  of  the  Gothic  delicacy  of  the 
Fifteenth  Century,  the  pillars  of  the  nave,  on  account  of 
their  bulk  and  heaviness,  carry  you  back  to  the  date  of  the 
Carlovingian  Abbey  of  Saint-Germain  des  Pres,  you  would 
believe  that  there  were  six  centuries  between  that  doorway 
and  those  pillars.  It  is  not  only  the  hermetics  who  find  in 
the  symbols  of  the  large  porch  a  satisfactory  compendium 
of  their  science,  of  which  the  church  of  Saint-Jacques  de 
la  Boucherie  was  so  complete  an  hieroglyphic.  Thus  the 
Roman  Abbey,  the  philosophical  church,  the  Gothic  art, 
the  Saxon  art,  the  heavy,  round  pillar,  which  reminds  you 
of  Gregory  VII.,  the  hermetic  symbols  by  which  Nicholas 
Flamel  heralded  Luther,  papal  unity  and  schism,  Saint- 
Germain  des  Pres  and  Saint-Jacques  de  la  Boucherie; 
all  are  melted,  combined,  amalgamated  in  Notre-Dame. 
This  central  and  generatrix  church  is  a  sort  of  chimaera 
among  the  old  churches  of  Paris;  it  has  the  head  of  one, 
the  limbs  of  another,  the  body  of  another, — something  from 
each  of  them. 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS 

VICTOR  HUGO 


A 


FTER  a  long  climb  up  the  dark  spiral  steps  that 
perpendicularly  pierce  the  thick  wall  of  the  towers, 
at  length  we  suddenly  emerge  upon  one  of  the 
high  platforms  flooded  with  light  and  air;  it  is  a  beautiful 
picture  that  unrolls  on  every  side  under  our  eyes. 

The  Paris  of  the  Fifteenth  Century  was  already  a  giant 
city.  Since  then,  it  has  certainly  lost  more  in  beauty  than 
it  has  gained  in  size.  As  we  know,  Paris  was  born  in  that 
ancient  He  de  la  Cite  which  is  shaped  like  a  cradle.  The 
strand  of  that  isle  was  its  first  boundary  and  the  Seine  was 
its  moat.  For  several  centuries,  Paris  remained  in  the  con- 
dition of  an  island,  with  two  bridges,  one  on  the  north  and 
the  other  on  the  south,  and  two  bridge-heads,  that  were  its 
gates  and  its  fortresses  at  the  same  time :  the  Grand- 
Chatelet  on  the  right  bank  and  the  Petit-Chatelet  on  the 
left  bank.  Then,  with  its  first  race  of  kings,  being  too 
much  confined  in  its  island,  Paris  crossed  the  water.  Then, 
beyond  the  great  and  the  little  Chatelet,  a  first  ring  of  walls 
and  towers  began  to  invade  the  country  on  both  sides  of  the 
Seine.  In  the  last  century  a  few  vestiges  of  this  ancient 
enclosure  still  remained :  to-day  there  is  only  the  memory 
and  a  tradition  here  and  there,  the  Porte  Baudets,  or 
Baudoyer,  (Porta  Bagauda).     Little  by  little,  the  flood  of 

74 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      75 

houses,  constantly  pushed  outwards  from  the  heart  of  the 
city,  overflows,  consumes,  uses  up  and  effaces  this  circuit. 
Philippe  Auguste   makes  a  new  embankment  for  it.     He 
imprisons  Paris  in  a  circular  chain  of  great,  high,  and  solid 
towers.     For  more   than  a  century,  the  houses  crowd  to- 
gether, accumulate  and  raise  their  level  in  this  basin,  like 
water  in   a  reservoir.     They  begin  to  deepen;    they  pile 
story  upon   story ;  they    mount    one    upon   another ;  they 
spout   upwards   like  all  compressed  sap,  and  each  tries  to 
raise  its  head  above  its  neighbours  to  obtain  a  little  air.     The 
streets  narrow  and  stuff  themselves  till  they  are  ready  to 
burst,  and  every  square  fills  up  and  disappears.     Finally,  the 
houses  jump  over  the  wall  of  Philippe  Auguste  and  joyously 
disperse    over   the    plain    in   confusion    and    disorder   like 
truants.     There  they  sit  proudly,  making  gardens  for  them- 
selves among  the  fields,  and   take  their  ease.     In    1367,  the 
city  expands  in  the  faubourg  so  much  that  a  new  enclosure 
is  necessary  :  this  is  built  by  Charles  V.     But  a  city  like 
Paris  is  in  perpetual  growth.     That  is  the  only  kind  of  city 
that  becomes  a  capital.     It  is  a  kind  of  funnel  into  which 
descend  all  the  geographical,  political,  moral  and  intellectual 
slopes   of  a   country,  and   all   the   natural    declivities    of  a 
people  ;  wells  of  civilization,  so  to  speak,  as  well  as  sewers, 
in  which  commerce,  industry,  intelligence  and  population, 
everything  that   is   sap,  everything  that   is  life,  and   every- 
thing that  is  the  soul  of  a  nation,  ceaselessly  filters  and  col- 
lects, drop  by  drop,  century  by  century.     The   circuit  of 
Charles  V.  then,  meets   the  fate  of  the  circuit  of  Philippe 


76  PARIS 

Auguste.  At  the  end  of  the  Fifteenth  Century  it  is  passed 
with  long  strides,  and  the  faubourg  runs  farther  away.  In 
the  Sixteenth,  it  seems  that  it  recedes  from  sight  and  is 
swallowed  up  more  and  more  in  the  old  city,  so  greatly 
does  the  new  city  fill  up  outside.  Thus,  if  we  halt  at  the 
Fifteenth  Century,  Paris  had  already  used  up  the  three  con- 
centric circles  of  walls  which,  from  the  time  of  Julian  the 
Apostate,  so  to  speak,  have  their  germ  in  the  Grand- 
Chatelet  and  the  Petit-Chatelet.  The  mighty  city  had  suc- 
cessively cracked  its  four  circuits  of  wall  like  a  growing 
child  that  bursts  its  clothes  of  last  year.  Under  Louis  XL, 
in  places,  in  the  sea  of  houses  were  to  be  seen  some  ruined 
groups  of  towers  of  the  ancient  circuits  rising  like  the  tops 
of  hills  in  an  undulation,  or  like  archipelagoes  of  the  old 
submerged  under  the  new  Paris. 

Since  that  day,  Paris,  unfortunately  for  our  eyes,  has  been 
transformed ;  but  it  has  only  crossed  one  more  circuit,  that 
of  Louis  XV.,  that  miserable  wall  of  mud  and  rubble, 
worthy  of  the  king  who  built  it,  worthy  of  the  poet  who 
sang  of  it : 

"  Le  7nur  murant  Paris  rend  Paris  mur  miirant.''^ 
In  the  Fifteenth  Century,  Paris  was  still  divided  into 
three  distinct  and  separate  cities,  each  having  its  own 
physiognomy,  its  own  individuality,  its  own  manners,  cus- 
toms, privileges,  and  history  :  the  Cite,  the  Universite  and 
the  Ville.  The  Cite,  which  occupied  the  island,  was  the 
most  ancient,  the  smallest,  and  the  mother  of  the  two 
others,  pressed  in  between  them  like  a  little  old  woman  be- 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      77 

tween  her  two  big  daughters-in-law.  The  Universite 
covered  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  from  the  Tournelle  to 
the  Tour  de  Nesle,  points  which  in  the  Paris  of  to-day  cor- 
respond to  the  Halle  aux  Vins  and  the  Monnaie  Its 
limits  generally  coincided  with  that  portion  of  country  in 
which  Julian  had  built  his  baths.  The  mount  of  Sainte- 
Genevieve  was  contained  in  it.  The  culminating  point  of 
this  curve  of  walls  was  the  Papal  Gate,  that  is  to  say  the 
present  site  of  the  Pantheon.  The  Ville,  which  was  the 
largest  of  the  three  portions  of  Paris,  occupied  the  right 
bank.  Its  quay,  although  broken  and  interrupted  in  various 
places,  ran  along  the  Seine  from  the  Tour  de  Billy  to  the 
Tour  du  Bois,  that  is  to  say  the  spot  where  the  Tuileries 
now  stands.  These  four  points  where  the  Seine  cuts  the 
circuit  of  the  capitol.  La  Tournelle  and  the  Tour  de  Nesle 
on  the  left,  the  Tour  de  Billy  and  the  Tour  du  Bois  on  the 
right,  were  called  in  particular  the  four  towers  of  Paris. 
The  Ville  extended  farther  into  the  country  than  the 
Universite. 

The  culminating  point  of  the  enclosure  of  the  Ville 
(that  of  Charles  V.)  was  at  the  partes  Saint-Denis  and 
Saint-Martin,  the  site  of  which  has  not  altered. 

As  we  have  just  said,  each  of  these  great  divisions  of 
Paris  was  a  city,  but  a  city  entirely  too  special  to  be  com- 
plete, a  city  which  could  not  do  without  the  other  two. 
Thus  there  were  three  perfectly  separate  aspects.  The 
Cite  abounded  with  churches,  the  Ville  with  palaces,  and 
the  Universite  with  colleges.     In  the  chaos  of  cummunal 


78  PARIS 

jurisdictions  the  isle  belonged  to  the  Bishop,  the  right 
bank  to  the  provost  of  the  merchants,  and  the  left  bank  to  the 
Recteur.  The  provost  of  Paris,  a  royal  and  not  municipal 
officer,  was  over  alL  The  Cite  possessed  Notre-Dame ; 
the  Ville,  the  Louvre  and  the  Hptel-de-Ville  j  while  the 
Universite  possessed  La  Sorbonne.  The  Ville  had  the 
Halles ;  the  Cite,  the  Hotel-Dieu ;  and  the  Universite,  the 
Pre  aux  Clercs.  The  misdemeanours  committed  by  the  schol- 
ars on  the  left  bank  were  judged  in  the  He,  in  the  Palais  de 
Justice,  and  were  punished  on  the  right  bank,  at  Montfau- 
con ;  unless  the  Recteur^  feeling  the  Universite  strong 
and  the  king  weak,  intervened;  for  it  was  one  of  the 
privileges  of  the  scholars  to  be  hanged  in  their  own  ter- 
ritory. 

In  the  Fifteenth  Century,  the  Seine  washed  five  islands 
in  enclosed  Paris.  The  Cite  possessed  five  bridges.  The 
Universite  had  six  gates,  built  by  Philippe  Auguste ;  be- 
ginning with  La  Tournelle,  these  were  the  partes  Saint- 
Victor,  Bordelle,  Papale,  Saint-Jacques,  Saint-Michel  and 
Saint-Germain.  The  Ville  had  six  gates,  built  by  Charles 
V. ;  beginning  with  the  Tour  de  Billy,  these  were  the 
partes  Saint-Antoine,  du  Temple,  Saint-Martin,  Saint- 
Denis,  Montmartre,  and  Saint-Honore.  All  these  gates 
were  strong  and  beautiful  in  addition,  which  is  not  hurtful 
to  strength.  A  moat,  broad,  deep  and  with  a  swift  current 
during  the  winter  floods,  washed  the  feet  of  the  walls  all 
around  Paris ;  the  water  was  supplied  by  the  Seine.  The 
gates  were  closed  at  night,  the  river  was  barred  at  both 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      79 

ends  of  the  city  with  great  iron  chains,  and  Paris  slept  in 
tranquillity. 

From  a  bird's-eye  view,  these  three  bourgs,  the  Cite,  the 
Universite  and  the  Ville,  present  to  the  eye  an  inextricable 
network  of  strangely  confused  streets.  Nevertheless,  at 
the  first  glance  one  recognized  that  these  three  fragments 
of  city  formed  a  single  body.  One  immediately  noticed 
two  long  parallel  streets,  without  a  break  or  a  change,  and 
almost  in  a  straight  line,  which  at  the  same  time  crossed 
the  three  cities  from  one  end  to  the  other,  from  south  to 
north,  perpendicularly  to  the  Seine,  binding  and  mingling 
them  and  infusing  and  pouring  ceaselessly  the  people  of 
one  within  the  walls  of  the  other  and  making  only  one  out 
of  the  three.  The  first  of  these  two  streets  ran  from  the 
Porte  Saint-Jacques  to  the  Porte  Saint-Martin  ;  it  was  called 
the  Rue  Saint-Jacques  in  the  Universite,  the  Rue  de  la 
Juiverie  in  the  Cite,  and  the  Rue  Saint-Martin  in  the  Ville ; 
it  crossed  the  water  twice  under  the  names  of  Petit-Pont 
and  Pont  Notre-Dame.  The  second,  that  was  called  the 
Rue  de  la  Harpe  on  the  left  bank,  the  Rue  de  la  Barillerie 
in  the  He,  the  Rue  Saint-Denis  on  the  right  bank,  the  Pont 
Saint-Michel  over  one  arm  of  the  Seine,  and  the  Pont-au- 
Change  over  the  other,  ran  from  the  Porte  Saint-Michel  in 
the  Universite  to  the  Porte  Saint-Denis  in  the  Ville.  As 
for  the  rest,  under  so  many  various  names,  they  were  ever 
only  two  streets,  but  two  mother  streets,  the  two  generative 
streets,  the  arteries  of  Paris. 

Independently  of  these  two  principal  streets,  diametrical 


8o  PARIS 

and  piercing  Paris  in  various  parts  of  its  breadth,  common 
to  the  entire  capital,  the  Ville  and  the  Universite  each  had 
their  own  particular  great  street  which  ran  lengthways, 
parallel  to  the  Seine  and  on  the  way  cutting  the  two  arterial 
streets  at  a  right  angle.  Thus,  in  the  Ville,  one  went  in  a 
straight  line  from  the  Porte  Saint-Antoine  to  the  Porte  Saint- 
Honore ;  in  the  Universite,  from  the  Porte  Saint-Victor  to 
the  Porte  Saint-Germaine.  These  two  great  ways,  crossed 
with  the  first  two,  formed  the  canvas  upon  which  rested, 
knotted  and  tangled,  the  Daedalian  network  of  the  streets 
of  Paris. 

Now  what  kind  of  aspect  did  all  this  present  when  seen 
from  the  summit  of  the  towers  of  Notre-Dame  in  1482? 

For  the  spectator  who  arrived  out  of  breath,  it  was  first 
a  dazzle  of  roofs,  chimneys,  streets,  bridges,  squares,  tur- 
rets and  clock-towers.  Everything  engaged  the  eyes  at 
once,  the  carved  gables,  the  sharp  roof,  the  turrets  sus- 
pended at  the  angles  of  the  walls,  the  pyramid  of  stone  of 
the  Eleventh  Century,  the  slate  obelisk  of  the  Fifteenth, 
the  round  and  bare  tower  of  the  donjon,  the  square  and 
embroidered  tower  of  the  church,  the  big,  the  little,  the 
massive  and  the  aerial.  The  eyes  lost  themselves  long  in 
all  the  depth  of  this  labyrinth  in  which  there  was  nothing 
that  had  not  its  originality,  its  reason,  its  genius  and  its 
beauty,  nothing  that  did  not  spring  from  art,  from  the 
smallest  house  with  its  painted  and  carved  front,  with  ex- 
terior woodwork,  elliptical  doorway,  and  with  floors  pro- 
jecting over  one  another,  to  the  royal  Louvre  that  at  that 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      81 

day  had  a  colonnade  of  towers.  But  when  the  eye  began 
to  grow  accustomed  to  this  tumult  of  edifices,  the  principal 
masses  that  it  distinguished  were  as  follows : 

First  for  the  Cite.  We  have  just  explained  that  in  the 
Fifteenth  Century  this  ship  was  moored  to  the  two  banks 
of  the  river  by  five  bridges.  The  form  of  a  vessel  had 
struck  the  heraldic  scribes,  for  it  is  from  this,  and  not  from 
the  siege  by  the  Normans  that  came,  according  to  Favyn 
and  Pasquier,  the  ship  that  is  blazoned  on  the  old  shield  of 
Paris.  The  Cite,  then,  first  presents  itself  to  the  eye  with 
its  poop  to  the  east  and  its  prow  to  the  west.  Turning  to- 
wards the  prow,  one  had  before  one  an  innumerable  collec- 
tion of  old  roofs  over  which  broadly  loomed  the  leaden 
apsis  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle,  resembling  the  back  of  an 
elephant  laden  with  his  castle.  Only  this  tower  was  the 
boldest  spire,  and  covered  more  with  carpentry  and  carved- 
work  than  any  that  had  ever  permitted  the  sky  to  show 
through  its  denticulated  cone.  In  front  of  Notre-Dame, 
three  streets  disgorged  into  the  parvis,  a  fine  square  of  old 
houses.  Over  the  southern  side  of  this  square,  leaned  the 
wrinkled  and  grim  facade  of  the  Hotel-Dieu  and  its  roof 
that  seemed  covered  with  pustules  and  warts.  Then,  to 
the  right,  to  the  left,  to  the  east,  and  to  the  west,  in  this 
close  of  the  Cite  that  was  yet  so  narrow,  arose  the  belfries 
of  its  twenty-one  churches  of  every  date,  of  every  form, 
and  of  every  size,  from  the  low  and  worm-eaten  Roman 
campanile  of  Saint-Denis  du-Pas  {career  Glaucini)  to  the 
fine  needles  of  Saint-Pierre-aux-Boeufs  and  Saint-Landry, 


82  PARIS 

Behind   Notre-Dame   to   the  north,  ran  the  cloisters  with 
their  Gothic  galleries ;  and  to  the  east,  the  deserted  point 
of  the  Terrain.     In  this  mass  of  houses,  the  eye  could  still 
distinguish  by  those  high  stone  mitres,  pierced  and  open  to 
the   day,  that   then   even  on  the  roof  crowned  the  highest 
windows  of  the  palace,  the  hotel  given  by  the  city,  under 
Charles   VI.,   to    Juvenal   des    Ursins ;    somewhat    farther 
away,  the  tarred  sheds  of  the  Palus  market ;  in  still  another 
direction,  the  new  apsis  of  Saint-Germain-le-Vieux,  length- 
ened  in    1458  with   an  end  of  the   Rue  aux  Febves  ;  and 
then,  in  places,  crossroads  thronged  with  people;  a  pillory 
set  up  at  a  corner  of  the  street ;  a  fine  piece  of  the  paving 
of  Philippe   Auguste,    a   magnificent   tiling  ridged  for  the 
horses'  hoofs  in  the   middle  of  the  street  and  so  badly  re- 
placed  in   the  Sixteenth  Century  by  the  miserable  pebble- 
work  called  pave  de  la   Ligue ;    a  deserted  rear  courtyard 
with  one  of  those  open  stairway  turrets  such  as  they  made 
in   the   Fifteenth    Century  and   one  of  which  may  still  be 
seen  in  the  Rue  des  Bourdonnais.     Lastly,  to  the  right  of 
the  Sainte-Chapelle,  towards  the  west,  the  Palais  de  Justice 
pitched  its  group  of  towers  at  the  edge  of  the  water.     The 
lofty  trees  of  the  king's  gardens,  which  covered  the  western 
point  of  the  Cite,  masked  the  islet  of  the  Passeur.     As  for 
the  water,  from  the  height  of  the  towers  of  Notre-Dame 
one   could  scarcely  see  it  on  either  side  of  the  Cite, — the 
Seine  disappeared  under  the  bridges,  and  the  bridges  under 
the  houses. 

And  when   the   eye   passed  beyond  those  bridges  whose 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      83 

roofs  assumed  a  green  tone,  having  grown  mouldy  before 
their  time  from  the  vapours  of  the  water,  if  it  was  directed 
to  the  left  towards  the  Universite,  the  first  edifice  that  it 
struck  was  a  great  and  low  cluster  of  towers,  the  Petit- 
Chatelet,  the  yawning  gateway  of  which  swallowed  up  the 
end  of  the  Petit-Pont ;  then,  if  your  glance  ran  along  the 
banks  from  east  to  west,  there  was  a  long  cordon  of  houses 
with  carved  joists,  coloured  windows,  rising  with  jutting 
stories  one  over  another  above  the  pavement,  an  intermi- 
nable zigzag  of  bourgeois  gable-ends,  frequently  cut  by  the 
mouth  of  a  street,  and  from  time  to  time  also  by  the  front 
or  the  elbow  of  a  great  stone  mansion  sitting  proudly  at  its 
ease,  courts  and  gardens,  wings  and  main  buildings,  among 
this  populace  of  crowded  and  curtailed  houses,  like  a  great 
lord  in  a  crowd  of  peasants.  There  were  five  or  six  of 
these  hotels  along  the  quay,  from  that  of  Lorraine,  which 
shared  the  great  neighbouring  enclosure  of  La  Tournelle 
with  the  Bernardins,  to  the  Hotel  de  Nesle,  whose  princi- 
pal tower  bounded  Paris,  and  whose  pointed  roofs  were 
in  a  position  to  slope  their  black  triangles  towards  the 
scarlet  disk  of  the  setting  sun  during  three  months  of  the 
year. 

For  the  rest,  this  side  of  the  Seine  was  the  less  mercan- 
tile of  the  two ;  the  scholars  made  more  of  a  noise  and 
throng  there  than  the  artisans,  and,  properly  speaking, 
there  was  no  quay  except  the  Pont  Saint-Michel  at  the 
Tour  de  Nesle.  The  remainder  of  the  margin  of  the 
Seine  was  sometimes  a  bare  strand,  as  it  was  beyond  the 


84  PARIS 

Bernardins,  and  sometimes  a  pile  of  houses  that  stood  with 
their  feet  in  the  water,  as  was  the  case  between  the  two 
bridges. 

There  was  a  great  hubbub  of  washerwoman ;  they 
shouted  and  chatted  and  sang  from  morning  till  evening 
along  the  bank,  and  beat  the  linen  heavily,  as  in  our  day. 
This  was  not  the  least  gaiety  in  Paris.  The  Universite 
formed  a  block  to  the  eye.  From  one  end  to  the  other  it 
was  entirely  homogeneous  and  compact.  Those  thousand 
roofs,  thick-set,  angular,  clinging  together,  and  almost  all 
composed  of  the  same  geometrical  element,  seen  from 
above,  presented  the  aspect  of  a  crystallization  of  the  same 
substance.  The  capricious  ravine  of  the  streets  did  not 
cut  up  this  mass  of  buildings  into  too  greatly-disappropor- 
tioned  slices.  The  forty-two  colleges  were  distributed 
among  them  in  a  fairly  equal  manner,  there  were  some 
everywhere.  The  varied  amusing  summits  of  these  fine 
edifices  were  the  product  of  the  same  art  as  were  the  simple 
roofs  that  overtopped,  and  were  really  only  a  multiplication 
in  square  or  cube  of  the  same  geometrical  figure.  They 
therefore  complicated  the  whole  without  disturbing  it,  and 
completed  without  changing  it. 

Several  fine  hotels,  here  and  there,  jutted  out  with  splen- 
did effect  over  the  picturesque  granaries  of  the  left  bank ; 
the  logis  de  Nevers,  de  Rome  and  de  Reims,  which  have 
disappeared ;  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  which  still  exists  for  the 
consolation  of  the  artist  and  whose  tower  has  been  so  stu- 
pidly discrowned.     Near  Cluny,  that  Roman   palace,  with 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      85 

fine  elliptical  arches,  was  the  baths  of  Julian.  There 
were  also  many  abbeys  of  a  more  devout  beauty  and  a 
graver  grandeur  than  the  hotels,  but  not  less  beautiful,  nor 
less  great.  Those  that  first  arrested  the  eye  were  the  Ber- 
nardins  with  their  three  bell-towers ;  Sainte-Genevieve, 
whose  square  tower,  which  still  exists,  makes  us  greatly  re- 
gret the  rest ;  the  Sorbonne,  half  college  half  monastery,  so 
admirable  a  nave  of  which  still  exists ;  the  beautiful  quad- 
rilateral cloisters  of  the  Mathurins  ;  their  neighbours,  the 
cloisters  of  Saint-Benoit ;  the  Cordeliers,  with  their  three 
enormous  gables  in  juxtaposition;  the  Augustins,  whose 
graceful  needle,  after  the  Tour  de  Nesle,  made  the  second 
indentation  on  this  side  of  Paris,  starting  from  the  west. 
The  colleges,  which  in  fact  are  the  intermediate  ring  of  the 
cloisters  in  the  world,  held  the  middle  position  between  the 
hotels  and  the  abbeys  in  the  monumental  series,  with  a 
severity  full  of  elegance,  a  sculpture  less  giddy  than  the 
palaces,  and  an  architecture  less  serious  than  the  monastic 
buildings.  Unhappily,  almost  nothing  remains  of  these 
monuments  in  which  Gothic  art  intersected  wealth  and 
economy  with  such  precision.  The  churches  (and  they 
were  numerous  and  splendid  in  the  Universite ;  and  there 
also  they  appeared  in  grades  of  all  the  ages  of  architecture, 
from  the  open  arches  of  Saint-Julien  to  the  ogives  of  Saint- 
Severin),  dominated  the  whole  ;  and,  like  one  harmony  the 
more  in  this  mass  of  harmonies,  they  pierced  every  instant 
the  multiple  indentation  of  gables  with  slashed  pinnacles, 
open  belfries,  and  slender  needles,  whose  lines,  moreover. 


86  PARIS 

were    nothing    more    than  a  magnificent   exaggeration   of 
the  sharp  angles  of  the  roofs. 

The  ground  of  the  Universite  was  hilly.  Mount  Sainte- 
Genevieve  in  the  southeast  formed  an  enormous  swelling ; 
and  it  was  something  worth  seeing  from  the  top  of  Notre- 
Dame,  this  maze  of  narrow  and  tortuous  streets  (to-day  the 
Latin  country),  these  clusters  of  houses  which,  spreading 
in  every  direction  from  the  summit  of  that  eminence,  pre- 
cipitated themselves  in  disorder  and  almost  perpendicularly 
down  its  slopes  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  some  seeming  to 
be  falling  down  and  others  to  be  climbing  up  again,  while 
all  seemed  to  be  holding  on  to  one  another.  A  continual 
stream  of  thousands  of  black  points,  crossing  and  recross- 
ing  each  other  on  the  pavements,  made  everything  in  mo- 
tion under  one's  eyes.  This  was  the  populace  seen  thus 
from  above  and  from  a  distance. 

Lastly,  in  the  breaks  of  these  roofs,  spires,  and  irregu- 
larities of  the  innumerable  buildings,  that  bent,  twisted  and 
indented  so  strangely  the  extreme  lines  of  the  Universite, 
here  and  there  could  be  seen  a  thick  stretch  of  mossy  wall, 
a  big  round  tower,  or  a  crenellated  city-gate,  showing  the 
fortress  :  this  was  the  enclosure  of  Philippe  Auguste.  Be- 
yond were  the  verdant  meadows  and  the  receding  roads, 
along  which  straggled  a  few  additional  houses  of  the  fau- 
bourg, scarcer  as  the  distance  increased.  Several  of  these 
faubourgs  possessed  some  importance  :  first,  starting  from 
La  Tournelle,  came  the  bourg  Saint-Victor,  with  its  bridge 
of  one  arch   over  the   Bievre ;  its  abbey,  where  might  be 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      87 

read  the  epitaph  of  Louis  le  Gros,  and  its  church  with  an 
octagonal  spire  flanked  by  four  belfries  of  the  Eleventh 
Century  (a  similar  one  may  be  seen  at  Etampes ;  it  has  not 
yet  been  pulled  down) ;  then  the  bourg  Saint-Marceau, 
which  already  possessed  three  churches  and  a  convent ; 
then,  leaving  the  mill  of  the  Gobelins  and  its  four  white 
walls  to  the  left,  came  the  faubourg  Saint-Jacques  with  its 
fine  sculptured  cross  at  the  cross-roads  j  the  church  of 
Saint-Jacques  du  Haut-Pas,  which  then  was  Gothic,  pointed 
and  charming;  Saint-Magloire,  a  fine  nave  of  the  Four- 
teenth Century,  which  Napoleon  turned  into  a  hay-barn ; 
and  Notre-Dame  des  Champs,  in  which  there  were  Byzan- 
tine mosaics.  Finally,  after  having  left  in  the  open  field 
the  monastery  of  the  Chartreux,  a  rich  edifice  contempo- 
rary with  the  Palais  de  Justice,  with  its  little  gardens  ar- 
ranged in  compartments,  and  the  ill-haunted  ruins  of  Vau- 
vert,  in  the  west,  the  eye  fell  upon  the  three  Roman  spires 
of  Saint-Germain  des  Pres.  The  bourg  Saint-Germain, 
already  a  large  commune,  lay  behind  with  its  fifteen  or 
twenty  streets ;  the  sharp  belfry  of  Saint-Sulpice  marked 
one  corner  of  the  bourg.  To  one  side,  were  seen  the 
quadrilateral  enclosure  of  the  Saint-Germain  fair,  where 
the  market  stands  to-day ;  then  the  abbe's  pillory,  a  pretty 
little  round  tower  well  capped  with  a  leaden  cone ;  the  tile- 
works  were  farther  away,  and  the  Rue  du  Four,  which  led 
to  the  manor-kiln,  and  the  mill  on  its  knoll,  and  the  pest- 
house,  a  little  house  isolated.  But  what  especially  attracted 
the  eye  and  fixed  it  for  a  long  time  on  this  point  was  the 


88  PARIS 

abbey  itself.  It  is  certain  that  this  monastery  that  had  a 
grand  appearance,  both  as  a  church  and  a  lordship,  this 
abbey-palace,  in  which  the  bishops  of  Paris  esteemed  them- 
selves happy  to  sleep  for  a  night,  this  refectory  to  which 
the  architect  had  given  the  air,  the  beauty,  and  splendid 
rose-window  of  the  cathedral,  this  elegant  chapel  of  the 
Virgin,  this  monumental  dormitory,  these  vast  gardens,  this 
portcullis,  this  drawbridge,  this  circuit  of  battlemented  walls 
which  to  the  eyes  notched  the  verdure  of  the  surrounding 
meadows,  these  courtyards  in  which  glittered  men-at-arms 
in  golden  copes,  the  whole  grouped  and  rallied  around  the 
three  open-arched  spires,  finely  set  on  a  Gothic  apsis,  made 
a  magnificent  figure  on  the  horizon. 

When  at  length,  after  gazing  long  at  the  Universite,  you 
turned  towards  the  right  bank,  towards  the  Ville,  the  spec- 
tacle suff^ered  a  brusque  change  of  character.  The  Ville, 
while  much  larger  than  the  Universite,  was,  in  fact,  less  of 
a  unity.  At  the  first  aspect,  it  was  seen  to  separate  itself 
into  several  singularly  distinct  masses.  First,  in  the  east, 
in  that  part  of  the  city  which  to-day  receives  its  name  from 
the  morass  where  Camulogenus  got  Caesar  stuck  in  the  mire, 
there  was  a  pile  of  palaces.  It  extended  to  the  edge  of  the 
water.  Four  almost  adjoining  palaces,  Jouy,  Sens,  Barbeau, 
and  the  Queen's  abode,  mirrored  their  slated  tops,  cut  with 
slender  turrets,  in  the  Seine.  These  four  edifices  filled  the 
space  from  the  Rue  des  Nonaindieres  to  the  Abbey  of  the 
Celestins,  the  spire  of  which  gracefully  relieved  the  line  of 
gables  and  battlements.     A  few  greenish  huts  leaning  ove-r 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      89 

the  water  in  front  of  these  sumptuous  hotels  did  not  inter- 
fere with  the  view  of  the  beautiful  angles  of  their  facades, 
their  wide  windows  squared  and  crossed  with  stone,  their 
ogival  porches  surcharged  with  statues,  the  sharp  edges  of 
their  cleanly-cut  walls,  and  all  those  charming  architectural 
surprises  that  give  Gothic  art  the  air  of  recommencing  its 
combinations  with  every  monument.  Behind  these  palaces, 
ran  in  all  directions,  sometimes  cloven,  palisaded  and 
crenellated  like  a  citadel,  sometimes  veiled  with  great  trees 
like  an  isolated  country-house,  the  immense  and  multiform 
enclosure  of  that  miraculous  Hotel  de  Saint-Pol,  in  which 
the  King  of  France  was  able  superbly  to  lodge  twenty-two 
princes  of  the  quality  of  the  Dauphin  and  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  with  their  servants  and  suites,  without  counting 
the  great  lords,  and  the  Emperor  when  he  came  to  see  Paris, 
and  the  lions,  which  had  their  separate  hotel  in  the  royal 
abode. 

From  the  tower  on  which  we  have  stationed  ourselves, 
the  Hotel  de  Saint-Pol,  nearly  half  concealed  by  the  four  great 
abodes  of  which  we  have  just  spoken,  was  still  very  con- 
siderable and  very  wonderful  to  the  view.  One  could 
easily  distinguish,  although  skillfully  consolidated  with  the 
principal  building  by  long  galleries  with  windows  and  col- 
umns, the  three  hotels  that  Charles  V.  had  amalgamated 
with  his  palace  ;  the  Hotel  du  Petit-Muce,  with  the  lace- 
work  balustrade  that  gracefully  hemmed  its  roof;  the  hotel 
of  the  Abbe  of  Saint-Maur,  having  the  relief  of  a  strong 
castle,  a  big  tower,  machicolation,  loopholes,  iron  bastions, 


90  PARIS 

and,  over  the  wide  Saxon  gateway,  the  abbe's  escutcheon 
between  the  two  grooves  of  the  drawbridge ;  the  hotel  of 
the  Comte  d'Etampes,  the  donjon  of  which,  in  ruins  at  the 
top,  looked  round  and  notched  like  the  comb  of  a  cock ; 
here  and  there  three  or  four  ancient  oaks  formed  a  clump 
like  enormous  cauliflowers ;  swans  sported  in  the  clear 
waters  of  the  fish-ponds  streaked  with  light  and  shadow, 
and  many  courtyards  with  picturesque  corners  came  into 
view ;  the  Hotel  des  Lions,  with  its  low  arches  on  short 
Saxon  pillars,  its  iron  portcullis  and  its  perpetual  roaring ; 
through  all  this  gleamed  the  scaly  spire  of  the  Ave  Maria; 
to  the  left  was  the  abode  of  the  Provost  of  Paris,  flanked 
with  four  slender  open-worked  turrets ;  in  the  central  back- 
ground was  the  Hotel  Saint-Pol,  properly  so-called,  with 
its  multiple  facades,  its  successive  enrichments  since  the 
time  of  Charles  V.,  the  hybrid  excrescences  with  which 
architects  had  loaded  it  for  two  centuries,  with  all  the 
apses  of  its  chapels,  all  the  gables  of  its  galleries,  a  thou- 
sand vanes  to  the  four  winds,  and  its  two  lofty  contiguous 
towers  whose  conical  roofs,  with  battlements  surrounding 
their  bases,  looked  like  peaked  caps  with  turned-up  brims. 

Continuing  to  mount  the  steps  of  the  amphitheatre  of 
palaces  stretching  away  on  the  surface  of  the  ground,  after 
crossing  a  deep  ravine  dug  in  the  roofs  of  the  Ville,  the 
eye  arrived  at  the  logis  d'  Angouleme,  a  vast  construction 
of  various  periods,  in  which  there  were  portions  quite  new 
and  very  white,  which  scarcely  assimilated  with  the  whole 
any  better  than  a  red  patch  in  a  blue  pourpoint.     Behind  it, 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      91 

rose  the  forest  of  spires  of  the  Palais  des  Tournelles. 
There  was  no  sight  in  the  world,  either  at  Chambord  or  at  the 
Alhambra,  that  was  more  magical,  more  aerial,  or  more  en- 
chanting than  this  forest  of  spires,  belfries,  chimneys,  vanes, 
spirals,  screws,  lanterns  pierced  by  the  daylight  that  seem 
to  have  been  worked  with  a  punch,  pavilions  and  spindle- 
turrets,  all  varying  in  form,  height,  and  attitude.  One 
would  have  called  it  a  gigantic  set  of  chessmen. 

To  the  right  of  the  Tournelles,  that  cluster  of  enormous 
towers  of  inky  black,  joining  one  another,  and,  so  to  speak, 
tied  together  with  a  circular  moat,  that  donjon  pierced  with 
loopholes  far  more  than  with  windows,  that  drawbridge 
always  raised,  and  that  portcullis  always  down,  is  the  Bas- 
tille. Those  species  of  black  beaks  that  protrude  between 
the  battlements,  and,  that,  from  a  distance,  you  would  take 
for  spouts,  are  cannons. 

Under  their  balls,  at  the  foot  of  the  formidable  building, 
is  the  Porte  Saint-Antoine  sunk  between  its  two  towers. 
Beyond  the  Tournelles,  as  far  as  the  wall  of  Charles  V., 
with  rich  compartments  of  verdure  and  flowers,  extended  a 
velvet  carpet  of  cultivated  land  and  royal  parks,  in  the 
midst  of  which,  by  its  labyrinth  of  trees  and  alleys,  one  rec- 
ognized the  famous  Daedalian  garden  that  Louis  XI.  had 
given  to  Coictier.  The  doctor's  observatory  rose  above 
the  maze  like  a  great  isolated  column  with  a  little  house  as 
a  capitol.  Terrible  astrological  doings  took  place  in  that 
little  office. 

The  Place  Royale  is  situated  there  now. 


92  PARIS 

As  we  have  said,  the  palace-quarter,  of  which  we  have 
tried  to  give  some  idea  to  the  reader,  although  only  pointing 
out  the  greatest  palaces,  filled  the  angle  formed  by  the  Seine 
and  the  enclosure  of  Charles  V.,  on  the  east.  The  centre 
of  the  Ville  was  occupied  by  a  mass  of  the  houses  of  the 
common  people.  There,  in  fact,  the  three  bridges  of  the 
Cite  disgorged  on  the  right  bank,  and  bridges  produce 
houses  before  palaces.  This  mass  of  common  dwellings, 
crowded  together  like  cells  in  a  hive,  had  its  own  beauty. 
The  Rues  Saint-Denis  and  Saint-Martin,  with  their  innu- 
merable ramifications,  approached  each  other  like  two  great 
trees  that  mingle  their  branches ;  and  then  tortuous  lines, 
the  Rue  de  la  Platrerie,  de  la  Verrerie,  de  la  Tixeranderie, 
etc.,  serpentined  over  all.  There  were  also  fine  edifices 
that  pierced  the  petrified  undulations  of  this  sea  of  gables. 
At  the  head  of  the  Pont  aux  Changeurs,  behind  which 
could  be  seen  the  Seine  foaming  under  the  wheels  of  the 
Pont  aux  Meuniers,  was  the  Chatelet,  a  feudal  tower  of  the 
Thirteenth  Century ;  there  was  the  rich  square  belfry  of 
Saint-Jacques  de  la  Boucherie,  with  its  corners  all  blunted 
with  sculptures,  already  admirable,  although  it  was  not  com- 
pleted in  the  Fifteenth  Century.  There  was  the  Maison- 
aux-Piliers  open  towards  the  Place  de  Greve ;  there  was 
Saint-Gervais,  that  has  since  been  spoiled  by  a  doorway  in 
good  taste ;  Sainte-Mery,  whose  ancient  ogives  were  already 
almost  full  semicircles;  Saint-Jean,  whose  magnificent 
steeple  was  proverbial;  there  were  twenty  other  monu- 
ments  that  did  not  disdain   to  hide  their  marvels  in  this 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      93 

chaos  of  black,  narrow,  and  deep  streets.  Add  to  these  the 
crosses  of  carved  stone,  more  plentiful  at  the  cross-roads 
than  gibbets ;  the  cemetery  of  the  Innocents,  the  architec- 
tural circuit  of  which  could  be  seen  in  the  distance  above 
the  roofs  ;  the  pillory  of  the  Halles,  the  top  of  which  could 
be  seen  between  two  chimneys  of  the  Rue  de  la  Cosson- 
nerie ;  the  steps  of  the  Croix-du-Trahoir  in  its  square  that 
was  always  black  with  people ;  the  circular  booths  of  the 
corn-exchange ;  the  fragments  of  the  ancient  enclosure  of 
Philippe  Auguste,  that  could  be  distinguished  here  and  there 
among  the  houses,  towers  overrun  with  ivy,  ruined  gates 
and  crumbling  and  deformed  portions  of  wall;  the  quay 
with  its  thousand  shops  and  sanguinary  flaying-yards ;  the 
Seine  covered  with  boats,  from  the  Port  au  Foin  to  For- 
I'Eveque,  and  you  will  have  a  confused  image  of  what  the 
central  portion  of  the  Ville  was  in  1482. 

With  these  two  quarters,  the  one  of  palaces  and  the 
other  of  houses,  the  third  element  in  the  aspect  offered  by 
the  Ville  was  a  long  belt  of  abbeys  that  bordered  it  almost 
throughout  its  circumference  from  east  to  west,  and,  behind 
the  circuit  of  fortifications  that  shut  in  Paris,  formed  a 
second  interior  circuit  of  convents  and  chapels.  Thus, 
immediately  beside  the  Pare  des  Tournelles,  between  the 
Rue  Saint-Antoine  and  the  old  Rue  du  Temple,  there  was 
Sainte-Catherine  with  its  immense  space  and  a  cultivation 
which  was  limited  only  by  the  wall  of  Paris.  Between  the 
old  and  new  Rue  du  Temple,  there  was  the  Temple,  a 
sinister  cluster  of  towers,  lofty,  upright  and  isolated,  in  the 


94  PARIS 

centre  of  a  vast  battlemented  enclosure.  Between  the  Rue 
Neuve  du  Temple  and  the  Rue  Saint-Martin,  was  the 
abbey  of  Saint-Martin,  amid  its  gardens,  a  superb  fortified 
church,  the  girdle  of  whose  towers  and  tiara  of  whose  bel- 
fries only  yielded  in  power  and  splendour  to  Saint-Germain 
des  Pres.  Between  the  two  streets  of  Saint-Martin  and 
Saint-Denis  was  the  close  of  La  Trinite.  Then,  between 
the  Rue  Saint-Denis  and  the  Rue  Montorgueil  was  the 
Filles-Dieu.  To  one  side,  might  be  distinguished  the  rot- 
ting roofs  and  the  unpaved  enclosure  of  the  Cour  des  Mir- 
acles. This  was  the  sole  profane  link  that  mingled  with 
this  devout  chain  of  convents. 

Lastly,  the  fourth  compartment  that  outlined  itself  in  the 
agglomeration  of  roofs  on  the  right  bank,  and  which  oc- 
cupied the  western  angle  of  the  enclosure  and  the  edge  of 
the  water  down-stream,  was  a  new  knot  of  palaces  and 
hotels  crowding  at  the  foot  of  the  Louvre.  The  old 
Louvre  of  Philippe  Auguste,  that  immense  edifice  whose 
great  tower  rallied  twenty-three  mistress-towers  around  it, 
without  counting  the  turrets,  seemed  from  afar  to  be  set  in 
the  Gothic  tops  of  the  hotels  of  Alen^on  and  Petit-Bour- 
bon. This  hydra  of  towers,  the  guardian  giant  of  Paris, 
with  its  twenty-four  heads  always  raised,  with  its  monstrous 
croups,  leaded  or  scaled  with  slate,  and  gleaming  with  me- 
tallic reflections,  ended  the  configuration  of  the  Ville  in  the 
west  with  an  astonishing  effect. 

Outside  the  walls,  several  faubourgs  crowded  around  the 
gates,  but  not  so  many  as,  and  more  scattered  than,  those 


A  BIRDS-EYE  VIEW  OF  PARIS      95 

of  the  Universite.  Behind  the  Bastille,  there  were  twenty 
round  shanties  about  the  curious  sculptures  of  the  Croix- 
Faubin  and  the  flying  buttresses  of  the  abbey  of  the  Saint- 
Antoine  des  Champs  ;  next  came  Popincourt,  lost  among 
the  wheat-fields ;  then  La  Courtille,  a  joyous  village  of 
wine-shops  ;  the  bourg  Saint-Laurent  with  its  church,  the 
belfry  of  which,  seen  from  a  distance,  seemed  to  mingle 
with  the  pointed  towers  of  the  Porte  Saint-Martin ;  the 
faubourg  Saint-Denis,  with  the  vast  enclosure  of  Saint- 
Larde  j  outside  the  Porte  Montmartre,  was  the  Grange- 
Bateliere,  encircled  with  white  walls  ;  behind  it,  was  Mont- 
martre with  its  chalky  slopes,  that  had  then  almost  as  many 
churches  as  mills,  and  which  has  preserved  only  mills,  for 
nowadays  society  only  demands  bread  for  the  body. 
Finally,  beyond  the  Louvre,  in  the  meadows  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Honore,  at  that  day  already  quite  considerable, 
one  could  see  the  extent  and  greenness  of  Petite-Bretagne 
and  the  Marche  aux  Pourceaux,  in  the  midst  of  which 
stood  the  horrible  vat  for  boiling  false  coiners.  Between 
La  Courtille  and  Saint-Laurent,  your  eye  had  already  no- 
ticed, upon  the  crown  of  an  elevation  set  in  a  desert  plain, 
a  kind  of  building  that  from  a  distance  resembled  a  ruined 
colonnade  standing  on  a  base  laid  bare.  This  was  neither 
a  Parthenon  nor  a  temple  of  Jupiter  Olympus :  it  was 
Montfaucon. 

Now  let  us  recapitulate  the  general  aspect  of  ancient  Paris 
in  a  few  words.  In  the  centre,  the  He  de  la  Cite,  in  form 
resembling  an  enormous  tortoise  putting  forth  its  bridges, 


96  PARIS 

scaly  with  tiles,  like  claws  from  beneath  its  gray  shell  of 
roofs.  To  the  left,  the  monolithic  trapezium,  strong, 
dense,  and  bristly,  of  the  Universite ;  to  the  right,  the  vast 
semicircle  of  the  Ville,  much  more  mixed  up  with  gardens 
and  monuments. 

The  three  portions.  Cite,  Universite  and  Ville  were 
veined  with  innumerable  streets.  Crossing  the  whole  was 
the  Seine,  obstructed  with  islands,  bridges  and  boats.  All 
around  was  an  immense  plain,  cut  up  with  thousands  of 
kinds  of  cultivation  and  dotted  with  beautiful  villages.  To 
the  left,  were  Issy,  Vanves,  Vaugirard,  Montrouge,  and 
Gentilly  with  its  round  and  its  square  tower,  etc.;  to  the 
right,  twenty  others,  from  Conflans  to  Ville-1'  Eveque. 
On  the  horizon,  was  a  hem  of  hills  disposed  in  a  circle  like 
the  rim  of  a  basin.  Finally,  in  the  distance  to  the  east,  was 
Vincennes  and  its  seven  quadrilateral  towers ;  to  the  south, 
Bicetre  and  its  pointed  turrets ;  to  the  north,  Saint-Denis 
and  its  spire ;  to  the  west,  Saint-Cloud  and  its  donjon. 
There  is  the  Paris  that  was  seen  from  the  top  of  the  towers 
of  Notre-Dame  by  the  ravens  that  lived  in  1482. 


A  GLANCE  AT  PARIS  ABOUT  1844 

HO  NO  RE  DE  BALZAC 

WHO  is  the  Parisian,  stranger,  or  provincial  visi- 
tor, that  has  not  noticed,  though  only  two 
days   in   Paris,  the   black    walls    flanked  by 
three  large  pepper-box  towers,  two  of  which  almost  join, — 
the    sombre    and    mysterious    ornament    of  the    Quai    des 
Lunettes  ?    This  quay  begins  at  the  bottom  of  the  Pont-au- 
Change  and  extends  to  the  Pont-Neuf.     A  square  tower 
called  the  Tour  de  I'Horloge,  from  which  the  signal  for  the 
massacre  of  Saint-Bartholomew  was  given,  a  tower  almost 
as  high  as  that  of  Saint-Jacques-la-Boucherie,  indicates  the 
palace    and    forms    the   corner    of  the  quay.     These  four 
towers  and  these  walls  are  clothed  with  that  blackish  hue 
that  all  north  facades  gain  in  Paris.     Towards  the  middle 
of  the  quay,  at  a  deserted    arcade,  begin  the  private  con- 
structions which   the  establishment  of  the  Pont-Neuf  oc- 
casioned in  the  reign  of  Henri  IV.     The  Place  Royale  was 
a  replica  of  the  Place  Dauphine.     It  has  the  same  system 
of   architecture    of   brick    squared   with   cut  stone.     This 
arcade  and  the  Rue  de   Harlay  indicate  the  limits  of  the 
palace  to  the  west.     Formerly  the  Prefecture  de  Police  and 
the  hotel  of  the  first  presidents  of  Parliament  were  depend- 
encies of  the   palace.     The   Cour  des  Comptes,  and  the 

97 


98  PARIS 

Cour  des  Aides  completed  the  supreme  court  of  justice, — 
that  of  the  sovereign. 

This  square,  this  island  of  houses  and  buildings,  where  is 
to  be  found  the  Sainte-Chapelle,  the  most  magnificent 
jewel  of  Saint-Louis,  is  the  sanctuary  of  Paris;  it  is  the 
most  sacred  spot,  the  holy  ark.  At  first  this  space  was  the 
entire  first  city,  for  the  site  of  the  Place  Dauphine  was  a 
meadow  dependent  on  the  royal  domain  where  was  a  mill 
for  coining  money.  From  this  arose  the  name  of  Rue  de 
la  Monnaie  given  to  the  street  that  leads  to  Pont-Neuf. 
From  that  came  also  the  name  of  one  of  the  three  round 
towers,  the  second,  which  is  called  the  Tour  d'Argent, 
which  would  seem  to  prove  that  money  was  struck  there. 
The  famous  mill,  seen  in  the  old  plans  of  Paris,  was  in  all 
probability  of  later  date  than  when  money  was  coined  in 
the  palace  itself,  and,  doubtless  was  due  to  an  improvement 
in  the  art  of  coining  money.  The  first  tower,  almost 
coupled  with  the  Tour  d'Argent,  is  called  the  Tour  de 
Montmorency.  The  third,  the  smallest,  but  the  best  pre- 
served of  the  three,  for  it  still  retains  its  battlements,  is 
named  Tour  Bonbec.  The  Sainte-Chapelle  and  its  four 
towers  (including  the  Tour  de  I'Horloge,)  perfectly  defines 
the  enclosure,  the  perimeter,  as  an  employe  of  the  Cadastre 
would  say,  of  the  palace  from  the  Merovingians  to  the  first 
House  of  Valois  ;  but  for  us,  and  in  consequence  of  its 
transformations,  this  palace  most  especially  recalls  the  epoch 
of  Saint-Louis. 

Charles  V.  was  the   first   to  abandon   the   palace   to  the 


A  GLANCE  AT  PARIS  ABOUT  1844     99 

Parliament,  a   newly-created    institution,   and   went,   under 
the  protection  of  the  Bastille,  to  inhabit  the  famous  Hotel 
Saint-Pol,  to  which  the   Palais  des  Tournelles  was  added 
afterward.     Then,   under    the    last    of  the  Valois,  royalty 
returned  from  the  Bastille  to  the  Louvre,  which  had  been  its 
first  bastille.    The  first  dwelling  of  the  kings  of  France,  Saint- 
Louis's  palace,  which  had  kept  the  simple  name  of  Palais  to 
signify  the  palace  par  excellence^  is  entirely  buried  under  the 
Palais  de  Justice,  and  forms  its  cellars,  for  it  was  built  in 
the  Seine,  like  the  cathedral,  and  built  so  carefully  that  the 
highest  tides   of  the   river  hardly    covered   the  first  steps. 
The  Quai  de  1'  Horloge  covers  about  twenty  feet  of  these 
thousand-year-old  buildings.     Carriages  roll  by  on  a  level 
with    the   capitals  of  the   strong   columns   of  these   three 
towers,  the  elevation  of  which  formerly  must  have  been  in 
harmony  with  the  elegance  of  the  palace  and  had  a  pictur- 
esque effect  from  the  water,  since  to-day  these  towers  still 
dispute  height  with  the  tallest  monuments  in  Paris.     When 
we  contemplate  this  vast  capital  from  the  top  of  the  lantern 
of  the  Pantheon,  the  Palais  with  the  Sainte-Chapelle  still 
appears  the  most  monumental  of  all  the  buildings.     This 
palace  of  kings,  over  which  you  walk  when  you  traverse 
the  immense  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  is  a  marvel  of  architec- 
ture, and  is  so  still  to  the  intelligent  eyes  of  the  poet  who 
comes  to  study  it  while  examining  the  Conciergerie.    Alas ! 
the  Conciergerie  has  invaded  the  palace  of  the  kings.     One's 
heart   bleeds   to   see  how  jails,  cells,  corridors,  apartments, 
and  halls  without   light  or  air  have  been  cut  into  this  mag- 


loo  PARIS 

nificent  composition  in  which  Byzantine,  Roman,  and 
Gothic,  the  three  orders  of  ancient  art,  have  been 
unified  in  the  architecture  of  the  Twelfth  Century.  This 
palace  is  to  the  monumental  history  of  the  France  of  the 
first  period  what  the  Chateau  de  Blois  is  to  the  monumental 
history  of  the  second  period.  Just  as  at  Blois  you  can  ad- 
mire in  the  same  court  the  chateau  of  the  Comtes  de  Blois, 
that  of  Louis  XII.,  that  of  Francois  I.,  and  that  of  Gaston, 
so  at  the  Conciergerie  you  will  find  in  the  same  enclosure 
the  character  of  the  early  races,  and  in  the  Sainte-Chapelle 
the  architecture  of  Saint-Louis. 


The  Left  Bank 


FLOWER    MARKET. 


FLOWERS  IN  PARIS 

ALPHONSE  KARR 

FROM    its   origin,   Paris    seems   to  have  been   pre- 
destined for  the  capital  of  the  civilized  world. 
Julian    says   that    Paris    was   surrounded   with 
pleasant  gardens  full  of  fruits  and  flowers. 

We  have  letters  patent  of  Clovis  dated  in  the  month  of 
October  in  the  year  500  of  the  Christian  Era,  in  which  he 
says: 

"  Paris  is  a  brilliant  queen  over  other  cities ;  a  royal  city, 
the  seat  and  head  of  the  empire  of  the  Gauls.  With 
Paris  safe,  the  realm  has  nothing  to  fear." 

Paris  was  encircled  with  woods  and  gardens,  the 
memory  of  which  is  still  preserved  by  various  names  of 
streets  and  faubourgs,  such  as  la  Courtille^  la  Culture- 
Sainte-Catherine^  etc.^  etc. 

The  church  that  Clovis  caused  to  be  built  near  Sainte- 
Genevieve  (a  church  first  dedicated  by  him  to  Saint  Peter 
and  Saint  Paul)  was  surrounded  by  vast  gardens. 

His  son,  Childebert,  formed  a  magnificent  garden  around 

the  Palais  des  Thermes,  says  a  contemporary,  completely 

planted  with  roses  and  every  other  kind  of  flowers,  as  well 

as  fruit-trees  that  this  prince  grafted  himself.     The  queen, 

Ultrogothe,  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers. 

103 


104 


PARIS 


Charlemagne  took  so  much  pleasure  in  his  gardens  that 
he  had  one  around  each  of  his  houses  in  the  various 
provinces. 

He  often  occupies  himself  with  his  gardens  in  his 
Capitularies^  with  great  solicitude.  "  I  desire,"  he  says, 
"  that  there  may  be  always  in  my  gardens  an  abundance  of 
lilies,  roses,  sage,  rosemary,  poppies,  etc." 

Hugues  Capet  had  two  gardens  in  one  of  the  islands  called 
rile-aux-Treilles.  Louis  le  Jeune,  in  1160,  gave  to  the 
chaplain  of  the  chapel  of  Saint-Nicholas  "  six  hogsheads 
of  wine  to  take  from  these  vineries." 

This  garden  occupied  the  place,  where,  in  1606,  the  Rue 
Harlay,  the  Place  Dauphine  and  the  quays  were  con- 
structed, and,  in  167 1,  the  court  of  the  Palais  and  the  Rue 
la  Moignon. 

Philippe  Auguste  had  three  gardens,  one  of  which  was 
called  the  King's  garden,  and  another  the  Queen's  garden. 

Charles  V.,  who  caused  the  Hotel  Saint-Paul  to  be  built, 
laid  out  there  immense  gardens  celebrated  for  the  beauty 
of  their  trellis-work  and  cherry-trees,  whence  come  the 
names  of  the  streets  that  take  their  place  :  Beautreillis  and 
la  Cerisaye. 

Under  Francis  I.,  appeared  formal  beds,  grass-plots,  and 
the  taste  for  rare  flowers. 

In  all  ages  the  Parisians  have  loved  flowers  and  gardens. 
A  Trait'e  de  la  Police^  published  in  1799,  complains  of  the 
obstinacy  of  the  people  in  keeping  gardens  suspended  over 
their  windows.     "  Even  those  of  the  lower  orders,"  says 


FLOWERS  IN  PARIS  105 

the  author,  "  who  have  no  inheritances  to  plant  make  gar- 
dens for  themselves  in  pots  and  boxes,  being  unable  without 
great  trouble  and  disquiet  to  do  without  them  entirely." 
He  adds :  "  The  magistrates  vainly  oppose  these  gardens 
at  the  windows.  After  many  ordinances  prohibiting  them, 
and  many  condemnations  of  prevaricators,  no  success  was 
gained  in  preventing  them,  so  strong  is  this  affection  for 
gardens  which  prevails  even  in  the  minds  of  the  most 
indigent  over  their  reason  and  their  own  interests." 

Under  Louis  XIV.,  Le  Notre  and  La  Quintinie  were 
appointed  councillors-directors  of  gardens,  and  Le  Notre 
received  the  collar  of  the  order  of  Saint-Michel. 

We  find  a  multitude  of  ordinances  of  the  kings  of 
France  relative  to  the  gardens  and  gardeners  of  the  city  of 
Paris. 

Among  others,  there  is  a  singular  privilege  for  the  osiers 
grown  in  the  gardens  of  Saint-Marcel.  The  ordinance 
dates  from  1473  and  commences  thus  :  "  It  is  ordered  and 
enjoined  that  nobody  shall  be  so  bold  as  to  sell  any  other 
osiers  that  are  grown  elsewhere  than  in  Saint-Marcel, 
etc." 

An  ordinance  of  Henri  III.,  in  December,  1576,  calls  the 
gardeners  his  "  beloved  master-gardeners  of  the  good  city 
of  Paris." 

The  gardeners  at  that  period  formed  a  corporation  hav- 
ing severe  laws.  The  candidates  had  to  undergo  examina- 
tions for  a  baccalaureate. 

"  Art.  XVII. — It  is  forbidden  that  any  gardener  shall  be 


io6  PARIS 

so  bold,  upon  pain  of  prison  and  forty  sols  fine,  to  under- 
take any  work  at  more  than  five  sols  Parisis^  unless  he  is  a 
master  or  bachelor. 

"  Art.  XVIII. — Let  none  be  so  daring  or  bold  as  to  un- 
dertake any  task  above  five  sols  unless  he  is  capable  of 
doing  good  work  and  a  masterpiece,  and  on  a  level  with 
the  duty  of  the  sworn  master-gardeners. 

"  Art.  XIX. — And  since  it  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of 
justice  that  various  persons  calling  themselves  master-gar- 
deners and  bachelors,  etc." 

The  master-gardeners  paid  heavy  imposts  to  the  state. 
The  author  of  the  Traite  de  la  Police  says  :  "  The  wars 
which  the  late  King  Louis  XIV.  had  to  sustain  against  the 
great  number  of  enemies  obliged  him  to  have  recourse  to 
various  extraordinary  means  to  meet  the  expenditures,  etc." 

In  fact,  if  the  people  had  not  contributed  money  for  the 
expenses  of  the  war,  how  would  the  authorities  have  been 
able  to  take  their  children  out  to  be  killed  there  ? 

Ah  !  who  will  deliver  the  so-called  civilized  nations  from 
these  harvesters  of  laurels,  gatherers  of  palms,  and  heroes 
brought  up  to  homicide  from  their  earliest  infancy  ? 

Under  Louis  XIV.  the  gardens  also  had  their  wigs. 
There  is  nothing  so  ugly  or  so  ridiculous  as  those  garden- 
beds  cut  up  with  sand  of  various  colours  and  those  trees 
subjected  to  forms  that  are  most  contrary  to  their  nature. 

At  the  present  moment,  on  the  table  on  which  I  am 
writing  I  have  before  my  eyes  a  book  printed  at  the  end  of 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV. 


FLOWERS  IN  PARIS  107 

THE    GARDENER    FLORIST. 
Universal  cultivation  ofjlowers^  trees^  etc.^  together  with  the 
manner  of  making  all  kinds  of  beds^  porticos^  columns  and  other 
pieces^  etc. 

Here  the  author  boldly  cries :  "  We  may  say  that  the  in- 
dustry of  our  gardeners  has  never  reached  such  a  high  point 
as  to-day ;  "  to  judge  of  this  we  have  only  to  look  at  the 
various  figures  they  devised  for  elms. 

"  Art  surpasses  nature,"  he  adds,  "  in  these  edifices  and 
porticos  of  verdure,  etc."  And  he  gives  figures  of  elms 
forming  from  the  base  of  their  trunk  upward  "  a  kind  of 
large  pot  without  a  handle  whence  issues  the  stem  of  the 
elm  terminated  by  a  perfectly  round  head  ;  "  then  he  shows 
the  image  of  a  portico,  then  some  yews  cut  into  vases  and 
animal  forms,  and  he  again  cries :  "  Is  there  anything  more 
beautiful  or  anything  that  reveals  more  grandeur  ?  " 

There  were  few  flowers  in  the  gardens  of  that  day ;  the 
author  makes  a  great  boast  of  the  eight  kinds  of  roses  that 
he  owns ;  we  may  judge  of  the  poverty  of  the  gardens  by 
the  important  place  occupied  in  them  by  the  sweet  basil, 
better  known  to-day  among  the  common  people  by  the 
name  of  oranger  de  savetier. 

The  princes  of  the  blood  and  the  peers  of  France  made 
presents  of  flowers  to  the  parliament  of  Paris;  this  was  a 
fine,  a  homage  that  they  rendered  to  the  justice  of  the 
country  to  which  they  declared  themselves  in  submission. 
It  was  called  la  baillee  des  roses. 

Unfortunately,  it  was  not  long  before  this  ceremony  was 


io8  PARIS 

performed  with  artificial  flowers,  and  there  was  a  "manufac- 
turer of  roses  "  for  the  parliament. 

Under  Louis  XV.  the  odour  of  blossoms  was  preferred  to 
manufactured  perfumes,  which  had  already  been  in  fashion 
in  the  time  of  Queen  Catherine  de  Medicis  and  her  three 
sons,  civet,  castoreum,  musk,  and  ambergris.  This  taste 
came  from  Italy,  where  flowers  are  so  liberally  cultivated, 
so  richly  coloured  and  so  odorous.  People  took  pleasure 
in  anointing  themselves  with  various  excrements  of  species 
of  rats,  beavers,  goats  and  whales ;  for  civet,  castoreum, 
musk  and  ambergris  are  nothing  else. 

In  all  ages  flowers  have  been  mixed  up  with  politics,  and 
not  very  felicitously.  In  the  name  of  heaven  be  content 
with  tigers,  leopards,  hawks,  and  as  many  headed  eagles  and 
other  savage  animals  as  you  please  for  your  escutcheons  and 
coats-of-arms,  but  leave  the  flowers  in  peace  ! 

Under  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons,  the  celebrated 
actress.  Mile.  Mars,  was  hissed  and  insulted  for  appearing 
on  the  stage  with  a  bunch  of  violets.  This  brought  about 
duels  and  public  clamour.  At  that  moment  one  might 
have  applied  to  a  portion  of  the  Parisians  what  Aristoph- 
anes said  of  the  Athenians  :  "  Call  them  Athenaio'i  iosteph- 
ano'i  (crowned  with  violets),  and  they  are  no  longer  joyful." 

Anne  of  Austria  could  not  endure  either  the  sight  or  the 
scent  of  a  rose :  there  is  no  need  to  mention  that  it  was 
proscribed  at  court,  talis  rex^  talis  grex.  Gretry,  the  author 
of  the  Tableau  parlant^  and  la  Caravane^  etc.,  had  the  same 
repugnance. 


FLOWERS  IN  PARIS  109 

Louis  XIV.  liked  strongly-scented  flowers,  he  wanted 
an  orange-tree  in  every  room  in  his  palace.  Madame  de 
Sevigne  speaks  of  an  entertainment  given  by  the  "  Grand 
Roi"  in  which  there  were  a  thousand  crowns'  worth  of 
jonquils. 

JVIarie  Antoinette  was  very  fond  of  flowers ;  she  prob- 
ably owed  the  last  agreeable  sensation  of  her  life  to  them. 

Shut  up  in  a  damp  and  pestiferous  chamber  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie,  her  only  clothing  was  an  old  black  dress  and 
stockings  which  she  took  off,  remaining  bare-legged  while 
she  washed  them  herself.  I  do  not  know  if  I  should  have 
liked  Marie  Antoinette,  but  how  can  one  help  worshipping 
such  great  misery  ? 

A  brave  woman,  Madame  Richard,  keeper  of  the  prison, 
took  great  happiness  in  making  presents  to  her  whom  she 
was  not  allowed  to  address  otherwise  than  as  Widow  Capet. 
Every  day,  and  not  without  danger,  she  brought  her  a 
bunch  of  the  flowers  she  loved :  pinks,  tuberoses,  and  espe- 
cially rockets,  her  favourite  flower.  Madame  Richard  was 
denounced  and  imprisoned.  In  a  recently-discovered  letter 
of  Marie  Antoinette's  we  learn  that  one  of  the  circum- 
stances that  most  cruelly  offended  her  in  that  miserable 
"  affair  of  the  necklace  "  was  the  audacity  of  the  Cardinal  de 
Rohan  in  saying  or  believing  that  he  had  "  offered  a  rose  " 
to  the  queen  and  that  she  had  accepted  it.  "  What !  A 
man  supposing  that  he  had  had  a  rendezvous  with  the 
Queen  of  France  the  daughter  of  his  King  !  That  the 
Queen  had  accepted  a  rose  from  him  !     I  certainly  did  not 


no  PARIS 

deserve  that  insult !  "  (Letter  from  Marie  Antoinette  to 
the  Archduchess  Marie-Christine.) 

Later,  another  woman  who  had  also  sat  upon  the  throne, 
Josephine,  in  retirement  at  Malmaison,  sought  consolation 
in  flowers.  With  the  assistance  of  an  intelligent  gardener 
named  Dupont,  she  collected  every  species  and  variety  of 
rose  known  in  France,  England,  Belgium  and  Holland. 
Dupont  produced  various  new  kinds  and  increased  the  cat- 
alogue of  roses.  We  owe  a  part  of  the  roses  we  possess 
to  the  Empress  Josephine.  That  is  a  crown  that  I  prefer 
to  her  husband's  crown  of  laurels. 

Another  flower  that  plays  a  part  in  the  history  of  Paris 
is  the  hawthorn,  that  pure  and  sweet  adornment  of  the 
hedges.  "On  August  24th,  1572,  King  Charles  IX. 
allowed  the  Huguenots  who  were  in  Paris  to  be  slain 
by  the  Parisians,  and  the  other  towns  that  followed  the 
example  of  Paris  put  to  death  those  among  them  who 
were  of  that  religion.  This  blood-letting,  although  some- 
what cruel,  prevented  a  great  inflammation."  This 
reference  to  the  St.  Bartholomew  is  to  be  found  in  a 
book  printed  at  Paris  in  MDCXLVL,  with  the  privilege 
of  the  king,  Louis  XIV.,  then  eight  years  of  age,  and 
already  represented  by  a  crown  of  laurels  in  the  book  of 
which  I  speak  because  the  Due  d'Enghien  had  captured 
Thionville  and  because  the  Marechal  de  Gassion  had 
captured  Gravelines  :  which  was  called  the  king's  triumph 
of  arms. 

Now  then,  on  the  day  of  St.   Bartholomew  the  rumour 


FLOWERS  IN  PARIS  in 

spread  that  a  stump  of  hawthorn  that  had  been  thought 
dead  had  suddenly  burst  into  leaves  and  blossoms. 

This  was  a  text  for  the  preachers  of  the  day  to  say  very 
fine  things  and  prove  how  greatly  pleasing  to  God  this 
massacre  and  hecatomb  of  men  had  been. 

The  fact  is  reported  by  de  Thou  who  makes  fun  of  the 
preachers. 

In  the  successive  embellishments  of  Paris,  window-gar- 
dens have  been  definitely  prohibited.  These  gardens  were 
a  subject  of  contest  which  dates  from  a  long  way  back  be- 
tween the  citizens  and  the  police.  On  this  subject,  ordi- 
nances dated  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIIL,  exist  against 
these  poor  gardens,  and  Martial  speaks  of  the  garden  that 
he  himself  had  on  his  window-sill : 

"  Rus  est  mi  hi  in  fenestra" 

On  depriving  the  Parisians  of  this  pleasure  and  so 
greatly  enlarging  the  city  that  all  the  neighbouring  country 
finds  itself  crowded  together  and  suppressed,  it  is  due  to 
them  that  they  should  have  the  squares,  to  which  however 
an  English  name  should  not  be  given.  This  is  almost  the 
sole  objection  that  I  have  to  offer  to  this  excellent  idea. 

I  had  often  thought  of  the  destiny  of  those  poor  girls  of 
the  people  who  pass  their  whole  life  in  the  centre  of  the 
city  in  those  infected  and  obscure  quarters,  never  hearing 
the  first  words  of  love  at  their  ear  and  in  their  heart  except 
on  the  stairways  reeking  of  boiled  cabbage,  or  under  the 
portes-cocheres  that  exhale  an  odour  mingled  of  mud  and 
adulterated  wine. 


112  PARIS 

Thanks  to  these  places  planted  with  trees,  to  these  pub- 
lic gardens  established  in  each  of  the  quarters,  that  is  no 
longer  the  case. 

It  is  strange  that  Paris  does  not  possess  a  flower-market 
convenient  or  simply  covered  over  like  the  Halles.  Why 
is  there  not  a  well-established  Halle  aux  Fleurs  like  the 
Halle  aux  Legumes  and  the  Halle  aux  Poissons  ? 


REVERIE 

GEORGE  SAND 

I  KNOW  of  no  city  in  the  world  where  strolling  rev- 
erie is  more  agreeable  than  in  Paris.  If  the  poor 
pedestrian  through  heat  and  cold  meets  innumerable 
tribulations  there,  it  must  also  be  confessed  that  in  the  fine 
days  of  spring  and  autumn,  "  if  he  knows  his  own  happi- 
ness," he  is  a  privileged  mortal.  For  my  part,  I  like  to 
recognize  that  no  vehicle,  from  the  sumptuous  equipage  to 
the  modest  hack,  can  be  compared,  for  sweet  and  smiling 
reverie,  with  the  pleasure  of  making  use  of  two  good  legs, 
on  the  asphalt  or  pavement,  obeying  the  whim  of  their  pro- 
prietor. Let  him  who  will  regret  ancient  Paris ;  my  intel- 
lectual faculties  have  never  permitted  me  to  know  its  de- 
tours^ although  like  so  many  others  I  have  been  brought  up 
there.  To-day,  what  great  vistas,  too  straight  for  the  artis- 
tic eye  but  eminently  sure,  allow  us  to  go  on  for  a  long 
while  with  our  hands  in  our  pockets  without  going  astray 
and  without  being  forced  every  moment  to  consult  the  of- 
ficer at  the  corner  or  the  affable  grocer  along  the  way. 

It  is  dangerous,  I  must  confess,  to  be  distrait  in  the 
centre  of  a  large  city  which  is  not  obliged  to  trouble  itself 
about  you  when  you  do  not  condescend  to  take  care  of 
yourself.      Paris  is  still  far  from  finding  a  system  of  veri- 

"3 


114  PARIS 

I 

table  safety  that  would  separate  the  locomotion  of  horses 
from  that  of  human  beings,  and  that  would  succeed  in  sup- 
pressing, without  prejudicing  business  necessities,  those 
hand-trucks  of  which  I  am  inclined,  in  passing,  to  complain 
a  little. 

I  would  dare  to  maintain  that  absent-minded  people,  for 
the  hundred  perils  that  they  still  run  in  Paris,  benefit  by 
the  compensation  of  a  hundred  thousand  real  and  intimate 
joys. 

Whosoever  possesses  this  precious  infirmity  of  pre-occu- 
pation  will  join  me  in  saying  that  I  am  not  maintaining  a 
paradox.  In  the  atmosphere,  in  the  view,  and  in  the  sound 
of  Paris  there  is  I  know  not  what  personal  influence  that  is 
not  to  be  found  elsewhere.  Nowhere  is  the  charm  char- 
acteristic of  the  temperate  climate  more  delightfully  mani- 
fested with  its  moist  air,  its  rose  skies,  moire  or  pearly 
with  the  most  vivid  and  delicate  tints,  the  brilliant  windows 
of  its  shops  lavish  with  motley  colour,  its  river,  neither 
too  narrow  nor  too  broad,  the  soft  clearness  of  its  reflec- 
tions, the  easy  gait  of  its  population,  active  and  lounging 
at  the  same  time,  its  confused  noises  in  which  everything 
is  harmonized,  every  sound,  that  of  the  water  population  as 
well  as  that  of  the  city  having  its  proportions  and  distribu- 
tions wonderfully  fortuitous.  At  Bordeaux  or  at  Rouen, 
the  voices  and  movement  of  the  river  dominate  everything, 
and  one  might  say  that  its  life  is  on  the  water :  at  Paris, 
life  is  everywhere;  therefore  everything  there  seems  more 
alive  than  elsewhere. 


REVERIE  115 

The  new  garden,  arranged  in  dales  and  dotted  with 
baskets  of  exotic  flowers,  is  never  anything  more  than  the 
Petit  Trianon  of  the  classic  decadence  and  the  English 
garden  of  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  perfected 
in  the  sense  of  multiplying  the  turns  and  accidental  features 
in  order  to  realize  the  aspect  of  natural  landscape  within  a 
limited  space.  In  our  opinion,  nothing  is  less  justifiable 
than  that  title  of  landscape-garden  which  nowadays  every 
bourgeois  takes  unto  himself  in  his  provincial  town.  Even 
in  the  more  extensive  spaces  that  Paris  consecrates  to  this 
fiction,  do  not  hope  to  find  the  charm  of  Nature.  The 
smallest  nook  of  the  rocks  of  Fontainebleau,  or  of  the 
wooded  hill  of  Auvergne,  the  slenderest  cascade  of  la 
Gargilesse,  or  the  least  known  of  the  meanderings  of  the 
Indre  has  an  aspect,  a  savour,  a  penetrating  power  alto- 
gether different  from  the  most  sumptuous  compositions  of 
our  Parisian  landscapists  !  If  you  want  to  see  the  garden 
of  the  creation,  do  not  go  to  the  end  of  the  world.  There 
are  ten  thousand  of  them  in  France  in  spots  where  nobody 
is  occupied  and  of  which  no  one  has  any  notion.  Seek, 
and  you  will  find  ! 

But  if  you  want  to  see  the  decorative  garden  par  excellence^ 
you  have  it  in  Paris,  and  let  us  say  at  once  that  it  is  a  rav- 
ishing invention.  It  is  decoration  and  nothing  else,  make 
up  your  mind  to  that,  but  adorable  and  marvellous  deco- 
ration. Science  and  taste  have  joined  hands  there ;  make 
your  reverence,  it  is  a  youthful  household. 

The  exotic  vegetable  world,  which  has  gradually  revealed 


ii6  PARIS 

its  treasures  to  us,  is  beginning  to  inundate  us  with  its 
riches.  Every  year  brings  us  a  series  of  unknown  plants, 
many  of  which  doubtless  have  already  enriched  the  herbals 
and  troubled  the  notions  of  worried  classifiers,  but  of  whose 
aspect,  colour,  shape,  and  life  we  are  ignorant.  The  many 
conservatories  of  the  city  of  Paris  possess  a  world  of  mar- 
vels which  constantly  grows  and  in  which  skillful  and 
learned  horticulturists  may  become  initiated  into  the  secrets 
of  the  preservation  and  reproduction  proper  to  each  species. 
Study  has  been  given  to  the  temperament  of  these  poor 
exotics  that  perpetually  vegetated  in  an  artificial  heat;  it 
has  been  discovered  that  some  that  were  reputed  delicate 
possess  quite  a  rustic  vigour,  whilst  others,  more  mysteri- 
ous, could  not  endure  under  our  skies  as  severe  cold  as 
they  patiently  endured  in  their  native  earth.  But,  like  an- 
imals, plants  are  susceptible  of  education,  and  I  doubt  not 
that  the  time  will  come  when  more  than  one  that  now  has 
to  be  coaxed  in  order  to  live  among  us  will  come  to  pro- 
duce fruits  or  shoots  gladly. 

We  shall  then  have  gratis  before  our  eyes  during  every 
hour  of  the  fine  season,  tropical  forms,  perhaps  arborescent 
ferns  that  are  already  easy  to  transport  under  glass,  not- 
withstanding their  respectable  age  of  several  hundreds  of 
centuries,  splendid  orchids,  colossal  latania-palms,  shafts  of 
vegetable  columns  whose  age  seems  to  mount  to  the  age 
of  the  flowers  of  the  coal-beds,  sagitated  leaves  ten  metres 
in  length  that  look  as  if  they  had  fallen  from  another 
planet,  foliage  of  such  brilliant  colours  as  to  eclipse  that  of 


REVERIE  117 

the  flowers,  graminacecs  resembling  clouds  more  than  herbs, 
mosses  lovelier  than  the  velvet  of  our  looms,  perfumes  un- 
known to  the  combinations  of  industrial  chemistry,  and, 
finally,  gigantic  living  plants  placed  within  the  reach  of 
everybody. 

Let  us  halt  here,  let  us  dream  a  little,  since  having  passed 
our  first  astonishment  and  expressed  our  first  admiration, 
our  imagination  carries  us  into  distant  regions,  into  still 
desert  isles,  and  into  those  unknown  solitudes  whence  the 
courageous  and  enthusiastic  naturalist  has  brought  us  these 
treasures  at  the  peril  of  his  life.  With  regard  to  perils,  we 
must  not  speak  only  of  the  caprices  of  the  sea,  of  the 
venom  of  the  rattle-snakes,  and  of  the  hurtful  appetite  of 
savage  animals  and  indigenous  cannibals,  certain  of  whom 
are  fond  of  white  flesh  with  tomato  sauce;  the  plants 
themselves  sometimes  possess  more  prompt  and  direct  means 
of  defence ;  witness  the  beautiful  nettle  that  we  have  seen 
covered  with  a  natural  silvery,  viscous  lye  that  we  may 
touch  but  that  is  provided  beneath  with  purple-coloured  hairs 
of  which  the  slightest  contact  with  the  skin  causes  death. 

Be  comforted  !     It  will  not  leave  its  glass  prison. 

We  therefore  wander  some  thousands  of  leagues  from 
the  Pare  Monceaux.  The  rich  decoration  that  environs  us 
cannot  long  keep  up  the  illusion  for  us  :  too  many  diverse 
regions,  too  many  countries  differing  greatly  and  far  distant 
from  one  another  have  contributed  to  this  ornamentation 
which  presents  itself  as  an  artistic  resume  of  creation.  We 
necessarily  fly  from  one  to  another  on  the  wings  of  intui- 


ii8  PARIS 

tion,  and,  ashamed  of  the  number  of  things  of  which  we 
are  still  ignorant,  we  are  seized  with  the  desire  to  travel  in 
order  to  learn,  or  to  learn  in  order  to  travel  with  pleasure 
and  fruitfulness. 

Shall  we  leave  the  decorative  gardens  without  dreaming 
about  the  delightful  hydraulic  trifles  that  now  play  so  great 
a  role  in  our  embellishments  i*  Clarified  by  the  rapid  mo- 
tion, the  water  is  always  a  music  and  radiance,  the  charm 
of  which  art  cannot  shatter. 

I  have  seen  naturalist-artists  absolutely  furious  against 
these  ruinous  playthings  that  pretend  to  remind  them  of 
nature  and  that  they  treat  as  puerile  and  monstrous  coun- 
terfeits. They  said :  "  Let  them  bring  us  the  rocky  and 
verduous  wells  of  Tivoli  with  their  whirls  of  impetuous 
water,  or  let  them  give  us  back  the  blowing  Tritons  of 
Versailles,  the  hydraulic  concerts  of  the  gardens  of  Frascati, 
and  all  the  rococo  follies,  rather  than  these  false  grottoes 
and  lying  cascades.  It  is  falsifying  all  the  notions  of  the 
true,  all  the  laws  of  taste,  and  all  the  sentiment  of  a  gen- 
eration that  they  pretend  they  are  making  artistic  and 
learned  !  "  They  were  indignant,  and  we  could  not  calm 
them. 

Shall  we  share  their  anger  ?  No  !  Between  the  reality 
and  the  accepted,  between  art  and  nature,  there  is  a  medium 
necessary  for  the  sedentary  enjoyment  of  a  large  majority 
of  people.  What  a  number  of  poor  citizens  never  have 
and  never  will  see  the  picturesque  sights  of  Spain,  Switzer- 
land, and  Italy,  and  the  enchantments  of  one's  own  view 


REVERIE  119 

of  the  great  features  of  mountain  and  forest,  of  lake  and 
torrent,  except  through  the  fictions  of  our  theatres  and 
gardens !  It  is  impossible  to  provide  them  with  real  speci- 
mens ;  we  must  limit  ourselves  to  the  copy  of  a  detail,  a 
nook,  or  an  episode.  I  cannot  bring  you  the  ocean,  be 
content  with  a  reef  and  a  wave.  This  detail  would  not 
gain  in  the  least  by  having  its  already  considerable  pro- 
portions centupled  in  cost;  it  would  not  be  more  real.  All 
that  can  be  demanded  of  us  is  to  make  it  pretty ;  and,  in 
this  respect,  our  hydraulic  playthings  are  without  reproach. 
Formerly,  they  were  much  more  costly,  and  transported  us 
into  a  mythological  world  of  marble  or  bronze  which  was 
not  more  successful  in  realizing  the  antique  style  or  the 
poetry  of  the  Grecian  gardens  and  temples.  They  have 
long  formed  a  separate  style,  entirely  fanciful,  which  in- 
deed has  its  own  charm,  but  which  we  must  leave  where  it 
is.  Apollo  and  his  nymphs,  Neptune  and  Amphitrite,  have 
nothing  more  to  say  to  us,  unless  they  speak  to  us  of 
Louis  XIV,,  and  his  court.  The  thought  of  our  epoch 
aims  at  making  us  love  nature.  Romanticism  has  disem- 
barrassed us  of  the  fetiches  that  did  not  allow  us  to  see  her, 
to  understand  her  and  to  love  her  for  herself.  What  we 
want  to  teach  our  children  is  that  grace  is  in  the  tree  and 
not  in  the  Hamadryad  that  formerly  dwelt  in  it ;  that  the 
water  is  as  beautiful  on  the  rock  as  in  the  marble;  that  the 
dreadful  rock  itself  has  its  physiognomy,  its  colour,  and 
its  cherished  plant,  the  wreathings  of  which  make  a  won- 
derful tapestry  for  it ;  that  the  grotto-work  has  no  need  of 


120  PARIS 

symmetry  and  a  clothing  of  shells :  it  is  only  a  question  of 
imitating,  with  a  truth-loving  skill,  their  natural  dispositions 
and  their  monumental,  easy,  or  fantastic  poses.  Later  on, 
if  our  children  see  how  real  Nature  works,  they  will  only 
enjoy  her  the  more,  and  they  will  remember  the  grottoes 
of  Longchamp,  Monceaux  and  the  Buttes-Chaumont,  as 
we  recall  with  pleasure  and  tenderness  the  little  frail  plant 
that  we  cultivate  in  our  window;  and  that  we  see  blowing 
strong  and  glorious  in  our  country. 


LEJARDIN  DES  PLANTES 

LOUIS  ENJULT 

THE  foundation  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  goes  back 
to  the  year  1626. 
At  the  solicitation  of  Herouard  and  Guy  la 
Brosse,  his  physicians,  Louis  XIII.  authorized  the  acquisi- 
tion of  twenty-four  arpents  in  the  Rue  Saint-Victor  and 
conferred  the  superintendence  of  the  garden  upon  the  first 
physician  to  the  King  and  his  successors.  La  Brosse  had 
a  parterre  made  forty-one  toises  in  length  and  thirty-five  in 
breadth,  and  there  he  caused  to  be  planted  all  the  plants 
that  he  had  been  able  to  procure.  The  garden  was  opened 
to  the  public  in  1650.  Over  the  principal  door  was  written 
Jardin  royale  des  herhes  m'edic'inales :  chairs  of  botany  and 
anatomy  were  soon  attached  to  the  establishment.  In  1660 
Colbert  founded  a  chair  of  the  iconography  of  plants. 
Fagon,  first  physician  to  Louis  XIV.,  at  his  own  expense 
undertook  the  most  active  research  in  all  provinces  and 
presented  to  the  garden  a  large  number  of  new  species. 
We  already  find  a  constellation  of  illustrious  or  recom- 
mendable  men:  Duverney,  professor  of  anatomy;  GeofF- 
roy,  chemistry  ;  Tournefort,  botany ;  Vaillant  directs  the 
cultivation  and  Antoine  de  Jussieu  is  sub-demonstrator. 
Fagon  had  the  first  hot-houses  and  the  first  amphitheatre 


122  PARIS 

constructed  ;  he  began  the  museum  of  osteology  and  tied 
the  youthful  America  in  bonds  of  knowledge.  Tourne- 
fort  enriched  the  garden  with  a  collection  of  plants  brought 
from  the  Levant,  and  Du  Fay  offered  to  the  cabinet  his 
fine  collection  of  precious  stones. 

Buffon  was  nominated  superintendent  of  the  garden  in 
1732.  For  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  this  is  the  date  of  a  new 
and  glorious  era.  Buffon  enlarged  the  buildings,  augmented 
the  collections,  embellished  the  gardens,  added  ground  to 
them  on  all  sides,  reached  the  Seine  and  extended  to  the 
quay  those  two  magnificent  avenues  of  lime-trees  that  are 
still  admired;  he  had  the  large  amphitheatre  and  the  chem- 
ical laboratory  built,  and  he  himself  drew  up  the  plans 
that  we  admire  to-day.  But  Buffon's  cares  did  not  stop 
there:  he  obtained  from  the  Academy  of  Sciences  the 
cession  of  the  Hunard  collection  of  anatomy;  from  the 
King  of  Poland,  a  collection  of  minerals  ;  and  from  Cathe- 
rine of  Russia,  various  objects  of  natural  history  and  fine 
specimens  of  animals  of  the  North. 

In  1792  Buffon's  successor  was  named  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre.  One  loves  to  see  that  gentle  and  pure  fame  in 
the  fresh  haunt  of  lovely  flowers  and  great  trees :  it  was  a 
good  place  in  which  to  meditate  on  the  Harmonies  de  la 
Nature. 

From  its  creation  to  our  own  day,  the  Jardin  des  Plantes 
has  never  ceased  to  increase,  whether  by  free  gifts  or  by 
onerous  acquisitions,  and  it  has  thus  become  the  most 
precious  collection  of  its  kind  in  the  world. 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  PARIS 

NEIL  WTNN  WILLIAMS 

TO  seme  people  it  will  come  as  a  surprise  to  hear 
that  there  are  catacombs  at  Paris. 
The  fame  of  the  similar  collection  of  human 
remains  at  Rome  would  appear  to  have  dwarfed  out  of 
sight  the  wondrous  quarries  that  stretch  beneath  the  greater 
portion  of  Southern  Paris.  Nevertheless,  the  catacombs  of 
the  French  capital  are  a  wonderful  and  a  weird  sight,  and 
one  that  is  open  to  any  member  of  the  public  who  makes  a 
written  application  to  Monsieur  le  Prefet  de  la  Seine. 
Their  historical  origin  is  interesting,  and  aptly  exemplifies  the 
changes  that  time  brings  in  its  train.  From  a  remote  past 
down  to  the  Seventeenth  Century  they  were  merely  quar- 
ries whence  stone  was  drawn,  and  drawn  to  keep  pace  with 
the  growth  of  the  city  above  them.  The  natural  conse- 
quence of  this  drain  upon  the  vitals  of  the  city's  support 
was  a  subsidence,  in  1774,  which,  by  damaging  property 
and  bringing  about  numerous  accidents,  informed  the  pub- 
lic that  some  one  must  do  something,  or  that  nobody  would 
be  left  to  do  anything. 

In  1777  a  still  stronger  hint  from  below  aroused  the 
government  to  an  activity,  which  expended  its  energy  in 
supporting  with   piers  and  buttresses  the  most   dangerous 

123 


124  PARIS 

portions  of  the  affected  area.  These  works,  continued 
from  year  to  year,  proved  a  fertile  source  of  expense. 

In  1784  the  question  arose  as  to  the  disposal  of  the  relics 
of  mortality  which  were  to  be  removed  from  the  disused 
cemetery  of  the  Innocents. 

It  was  suggested  that  the  quarries  should  be  still  further 
strengthened  and  rendered  compact  by  their  adoption  as 
catacombs.  The  suggestion  met  with  approval,  was 
adopted,  and  the  transfer  of  the  vast  accumulation  of  bones 
entered  upon  with  all  due  precautions.  It  was  thus  that 
the  quarries  became  the  garner-room  of  the  Destroyer ;  it 
was  thus,  as  the  various  cemeteries  within  the  city  ceased 
to  yawn  for  their  dead,  that  they  were  made  to  yield  up 
their  silent  tenants. 

In  1786  the  catacombs  were  solemnly  consecrated.  At 
this  period  the  bones  and  skulls  were  being  cast  down  on 
the  floors  of  the  caverns  and  passages  in  great  heaps,  with- 
out any  attempt  at  order  or  arrangement ;  nor  was  it  till 
the  year  18 12  that  the  authorities  commenced  the  work 
which  has  culminated  in  the  present  artistic  presentment 
of  that  which  once  formed  the  framework  of  living  thou- 
sands. 

Come  !  we  will  descend  together  as  two  members  of  the 
public,  and  see  a  portion  of  this  underground  and  silent 
world  that  extends  its  ramifications  beneath  two  hundred 
acres  of  Paris.  We  are  in  possession  of  our  "  permits," 
and  according  to  direction  find  ourselves  at  the  principal 
entrance  on  the  right  of  the  Place  Denfert-Rochereau. 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  PARIS       125 

We  take  our  places  in  the  queue  of  those  about  to  de- 
scend. We  buy  candles.  An  obliging  stranger  tears  off  a 
square  piece  from  a  newspaper  and  hands  it  to  us  with  a 
polite  bow.  The  careful,  courteous  man  !  He  explains  to 
us  that  presently  it  will  be  useful,  if  only  "  les  messieurs " 
will  adopt  this  plan  of  catching  the  droppings  of  a  flickering 
candle  held  in  the  bare  hand ;  and  so  saying  he  triumphantly 
thrusts  his  candle  with  a  ripping,  tearing  noise  through  the 
paper.  The  idea  is  good,  so  good  that  it  travels  along  the 
queue^  and  each  candle  soon  boasts  a  paper  guard.  One 
o'clock  strikes.  The  door  guarding  the  entrance  to  ninety 
steps  that  lead  to  below  swings  open.  Its  harsh  grating  is 
the  signal  for  a  brisk  fusillade  of  match-firing  reports. 
The  matches  are  applied  to  the  candles ;  a  strong  odour  of 
tallow  seethes  through  the  mellow  sunshine,  and  through 
its  sickly  fumes  we  commence  to  slowly  advance.  Already 
the  leading  file  has  vanished  within  the  doorway,  and  as 
we  in  turn  approach  the  orifice  a  dull  roar  pours  sullenly 
out  to  meet  us.  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp — we  have  passed 
beneath  the  archway,  we  are  descending  the  spiral  of  the 
stone  staircase.  The  air  is  heavy  with  the  clangour  of 
ponderous  footfalls — murky  with  candle  smoke  that  veils 
with  weird  effect  the  flickering,  draught-driven  light.  As 
far,  and  just  so  far,  as  we  can  see  above  and  below  us,  all 
is  in  movement ;  dresses,  coats,  candles  whirl  slowly,  un- 
certainly downward.  The  very  walls  seem  to  writhe  in 
the  uncertain  light,  to  mutter  and  to  moan  with  inarticulate 
voices. 


126  PARIS 

Down,  down,  down !  All  are  in  the  rock-home  of 
Death.  A  moment's  pause,  a  silence  falls  on  the  chatter- 
ing crowd.  Then,  affrighted  with  their  second's  fear,  they 
sway  onward  through  a  rocky  gallery.  Rock  on  either 
side  of  them,  rock  above  them ;  here  bare  and  arid,  there 
slimy  with  oozing  water  and  fowl  growths.  The  passage 
broadens  out,  it  narrows,  and  ever  and  ever  there  is  the 
black  line  on  the  roof  that  marks  the  road.  Suddenly  a 
black  shadow  on  the  left  or  to  the  right.  The  eye  plunges 
into  the  depths  of  these  side  roads,  and  recoils  aghast  at 
their  mysterious  gloom.  The  lights  file  on.  A  thin  glitter 
seams  a  dark  gap  with  a  flickering,  broken  line  of  light. 
"  Ah,"  says  the  guide.     "Yes,  a  chain  !  " 

Still,  forward,  the  shadows  to  right  and  left  grow  in  size ; 
some  have  a  sentry  silently  guarding  their  obscurity  from 
rash  obtrusion ;  where  there  is  no  sentry  there  is  a  chain. 

A  sudden  check  from  in  front  breaks  the  continuity  of 
the  forward  movement. 

We  move  on  again,  and  lo  !  the  rocks  on  either  hand 
contract,  change  colour,  break  out  into  the  gruesome  de- 
sign of  a  symmetrically  built  wall  of  bones  and  skulls. 
From  the  level  of  our  heads  down  to  the  level  of  our  feet, 
skull  rests  upon  skull,  and  leans  back  upon  the  myriad 
bones  behind.  The  shivering  candlelight  falls  with  unequal 
rays  upon  the  formal  tiers;  it  flashes  coldly  upon  the  grin- 
ning teeth,  penetrates  the  mortarless  crannies  of  the  wall, 
and  ever  shows  bones  of  many  shapes  and  curves.  Now  it 
lights   up  a  rent  in  some  skull — a  ghastly,  jagged  wound 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  PARIS        127 

which  haunts  one  with  the  thought  of  foul  murder.  Anon, 
it  shimmers  with  erratic  play  on  the  trickling  water  that, 
pursuing  its  silent  way  from  year  to  year,  has  crusted  with 
a  smooth  gloss  the  skull  beneath. 

Again  the  crowd  checks.  In  the  moment's  pause  you 
approach  the  wall.  An  earth-stained  skull,  perhaps  larger 
than  its  comrades,  centres  your  attention  on  his  sunken 
orbits.  You  brood  over  it,  are  drawn  to  it,  and  as  in  a 
dream  lay  hands  on  its  smooth  cranium.  The  cold, 
clammy  contact !  Ah  !  how  different  from  the  warmth  of 
a  loving  friend.  Yet  perchance,  this^  this  too,  was  once  a 
friend,  the  load-stone  of  a  deep,  broad  love. 

On  again,  once  more,  and  this  time  quicker.  The  skulls 
flash  past  in  confused  lines.  It  is  the  dance  of  death.  A 
rock  shoots  into  view,  bursts  through  the  skulls.  It  is 
marked  with  black  characters,  which  tell  you  that  "  it  is 
sometimes  better  to  die  than  to  live." 

Rock  and  lettering  fade  back  into  darkness,  but  again 
and  again  the  light  outlines  a  phrase  such  as  "  Tombeau  de 
la  Revolution"  "  Tombeau  des  Victimes"  or  a  motto  that 
sinks  deep  into  the  soul. 

The  designs  in  skull  and  bone  become  more  complicated. 
The  walls  become  more  lofty,  rush  from  straight  lines 
into  curves,  assume  the  form  of  chapels.  Around  and 
about  you  are  skulls,  skulls,  skulls.  Once  these  residues 
of  men  were  even  as  you  and  I  are  now.  Think  of  it, 
each  mouldering  bone  was  once  part  of  a  life — a  life  !  But 
now.  Tragedy  and  Comedy  lie  indifferently  side  by  side. 


128  PARIS 

Riches  and  poverty,  the  great  and  the  low,  lie  jaw  by 
jaw. 

None  too  great,  none  too  humble  to  enter  into  Death's 
lavish  gift  to  the  darkness  that  reigns  in  the  catacombs. 
Their  world  has  passed  away,  and  the  old  order  has  given 
place  to  the  new  that  now  surges  and  seethes  by  their 
crumbling  bones.  They  have  been  but  a  tide  in  the  ocean 
of  life,  they  have  flowed  and  they  have  ebbed. 

But  even  as  you  dream  or  gibe,  according  to  tempera- 
ment, in  one  of  these  chapels,  a  faint,  prolonged  rustle 
comes  stealing  to  the  ear,  swells  and  falls,  and  vanishes 
mysteriously  as  it  came. 

What  was  it  ?  The  guide  catches  an  inquiring  eye,  and 
explains,  with  a  wealth  of  incisive  gesture,  that  it  is  the 
rats  moving.  He  makes  the  blood  run  cold  with  the  hor- 
ror of  his  account  of  those  who  have  been  lost  in  the  cata- 
combs and  hunted  to  their  death  by  the  sharp-teethed 
rodents. 

He  expatiates  with  pardonable  pride  on  the  precautions 
now  taken  by  the  authorities  to  guard  against  casualties  of 
this  nature,  and  sinks  his  voice  to  a  whisper  as  he  mentions 
the  lost  hundred  of  187 1.  He  points  to  the  dark,  chain- 
barred  passages  as  he  tells  you  who  and  what  these  men 
were.  'Tis  a  tale  that  dwells  in  a  blood-red  past^a  past 
which  gave  birth  to  the  Commune  of '71.  The  Germans 
had  besieged  Paris  and  taken  it ;  they  had  entered  the  city 
as  conquerors,  and  with  their  departure  the  humiliated,  su- 
persensitive  city  was   to   be   further   outraged   by   its   own 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  PARIS       129 

baser  passions.  The  National  Guard  had  been  even  during 
the  siege  disaffected  toward  the  Government  of  the  Repub- 
lic, and  u'ith  the  departure  of  the  Germans,  it  saw  in  the 
weakness  of  the  Government  then  located  at  Versailles  its 
opportunity  for  revolt.  Not  having  been  disarmed,  it  pos- 
sessed a  brute  force  which  gave  it  courage  to  act — it  carried 
off  the  cannon  to  the  heights  of  Montmartre  and  Belleville, 
under  the  plausible  excuse  of  preserving  them  from  the 
enemy. 

This  was,  in  effect,  revolt ;  and  so  President  Thiers  read 
it :  He  attempted  the  removal  of  the  cannon  on  March, 
'71.  He  failed;  and  so  commenced  the  insurrection  of 
the  Commune  and  a  siege  of  Paris. 

A  hundred  thousand  National  Guards,  together  with  the 
desperate  characters  common  to  every  great  city,  were  the 
thews  and  the  sinews  of  this  social  revolution,  which  was 
directed  against  property  and  labour-masters.  It  was  in- 
itiated by  working  men,  but  in  its  short  life  of  two  months 
it  was  to  seek  the  power  of  the  devil  of  cruelty,  and  to  en- 
courage to  the  surface  of  Parisian  life  the  p'etroleur  and  p'etro- 
leuse.  It  was  to  grow  drunk  with  blood,  and  with  sottish 
fury  to  fire  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  Palais  de  Justice,  the 
Tuileries,  the  Ministry  of  France  ;  it  was  to  corrupt  its 
own  body  with  murderous  excess,  and  to  slay  by  day  and 
by  night.  Within  the  restraining  influence  of  the  Repub- 
lican army  concentrated  at  Versailles,  it  stung  itself  like  a 
fire-imprisoned  scorpion. 

But  the  debilitated   Government    at   Versailles   was    re- 


130  PARIS 

cuperating  j  it  drew  the  siege  closer,  and  hurled  shot 
and  shell  faster  and  faster  into  the  writhing  city.  It 
sent  out  its  troops  under  Marshal  MacMahon,  and  with 
bayonet  and  bullet  it  bore  down  the  Communists,  slew 
them  without  trial,  without  mercy,  with  no  quarter  for 
p'etroleur  or  p'etroleuse.  Ten  thousand  corpses  lay  beneath 
its  Victory ;  the  streets  and  prisons  were  red  with  blood ; 
the  mark  of  the  destroyer  was  on  mansion  and  humblest  of 
humble  buildings. 

By  the  lurid  light  which  the  recollections  of  the  Com- 
mune emit,  the  guide's  answers  to  a  bystander,  that  the  lost 
hundred  were  insurgents  and  part  of  the  garrison  of  Fort 
Vanves,  becomes  powerfully  suggestive.  And  to  here  a 
question  and  there  a  question  he  makes  reply,  of  how  the 
insurgents  fled  before  the  Republican  troops,  on  the  fall  of 
Fort  Vanves.  And  how  they  had  rushed  away  from  the 
bayonets  on  their  track  to  endeavour  to  seek  safety  in  the 
silent  gloom  of  the  catacombs. 

His  graphic  words,  intensified  by  the  environment,  re- 
construct the  scene,  paint  it  with  the  vivid  colours  of  a 
nightmare  to  the  eyeballs  straining  to  the  dark  mouth  of  the 
passages  beyond.  In  thought,  he  takes  us  with  the  panic- 
stricken  soldiers  into  the  labyrinth.  We  feel  a  feverish 
fear  of  pursuit  driving  us  further  into  the  secretive  gloom. 
A  halt — and  our  labouring  hearts  grow  calmer  amidst  the 
silence  that  yields  no  shout,  no  muffled  footfall  of  pursuer. 
But  our  torches  consume  faster  and  faster  away  ;  we  must 
again   seek   light   of  day.     Yet   how  !     Everywhere,  road 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  PARIS        131 

across  road,  silent  skull  by  silent  skull,  with  never  a  clue  to 
the  open  air,  to  the  living  world  above.  Again  panic  seizes 
us ;  we  run,  run  madly  with  many  a  stumble,  for  life. 
Exhaustion  finds  us  alone.  Our  comrades  gone.  Our 
torch,  guarded  with  trembling  hand,  burning  low.  We 
hear  the  rats  gathering  in  their  hordes  outside  the  pale  of 
kindly,  merciful  light.     They  throw  down  a  skull  that  rolls 

heavily  to  our  feet.     The  light 

Ah  !  It  must  have  been  awful  to  have  died  in  that  thick 
blackness  with  never  a  ray  of  light  or  hope.  And  we  grow 
thankful  that,  as  two  of  the  public,  we  move  on  and  on  to 
the  exit  at  the  Rue  Dareau,  and  find  there  life  and  sun- 
shine. 


SAINT-iTIENNE  DU  MONT 

S.  SOPHIA   BE  ALE 

THE  convent  of  Sainte-Genevieve  was  founded  by 
Clovis,  and  so  extensive  were  its  lands  and  de- 
pendencies that  ere  long  it  drew  to  it  a  large 
population  of  workmen  and  labourers  for  the  cultivation  of 
its  land.  A  priest,  one  of  the  monks  of  the  abbey,  was 
appointed  to  take  spiritual  charge  of  these  people ;  and 
from  this  commencement  grew  the  parish  of  Saint-Etienne. 
Originally  the  congregation  worshipped  in  the  crypt  of  the 
abbey  church.  But  at  the  beginning  of  the  Thirteenth 
Century  the  congregation  outgrew  its  chapel,  and  in  1224 
the  Bishop  of  Paris  authorized  the  building  of  a  church  by 
the  side  of  the  abbey,  to  be  consecrated  to  the  memory  of 
Saint-£tienne,  the  proto-martyr.  The  reason  for  changing 
its  name  for  the  third  time  was  probably  the  demolition  of 
a  church  dedicated  to  Saint  Stephen  to  make  space  for 
Notre-Dame. 

The  first  church  lasted  three  hundred  years,  and  then 
again,  the  population  having  increased  enormously,  Saint- 
Etienne  was  found  to  be  too  small  for  its  congregation,  and 
another  and  finer  church  was  projected.  In  149 1  it  was 
deemed  better  to  rebuild  than  to  patch  up  and  enlarge  the 

church  J  but  many  years  passed  in  projects  and  delays,  and 

132 


<AL\  i  -i.  i  ii-:XNE  DU-MOXT. 


SAINT-ETIENNE  DU  MONT        133 

it  was  only  in  1517  that  the  woric  was  actually  commenced. 
Abbot  Philippe  Lebel  finished  the  choir  in  1537,  and  in 
1 54 1  the  Bishop  Megare  consecrated  the  altars  in  the  name 
of  the  Bishop  of  Paris  ;  but  that  the  church  was  not  fin- 
ished in  1552,  or  even  in  1563,  diocesan  permission  to  ap- 
ply the  Lenten  offerings  to  the  work  is  sufficient  proof. 
The  jube  was  commenced  in  1600,  the  porches  nine  years 
later,  and  the  chapel  of  the  Virgin  (rebuilt)  was  only  fin- 
ished in  166 1.  It  was  Queen  Marguerite  de  Valois,  the 
lady  who  so  strangely  prances  about  Paris  upon  a  white 
palfrey  at  dead  of  night  in  the  much-admired  controversial 
opera,  who  laid  the  first  stone  of  the  great  portal  in  1610; 
and,  moreover,  she  gave  a  sum  of  three  thousand  Ihres  to 
aid  the  work;  but  what  was  this  when  so  much  was 
wanted  ?  All  was  not  complete  until  1628,  and  meanwhile 
the  alms  during  Lent  was  appropriated  to  the  building  fund. 
However,  on  the  25th  of  February,  1626,  the  church  and 
the  high  altar  were  dedicated  to  the  glory  of  God  and  of 
the  Virgin  Mary  by  the  "  reverendissime  messire  Jean- 
Franpis  de  Gondi"  archbishop  of  Paris. 

Saint-Etienne  is  a  cruciform  building,  very  much  leaning 
to  the  right  (as  is  common  in  old  churches),  with  a  nave, 
two  aisles,  and  nineteen  chapels.  The  transepts  scarcely 
project  beyond  the  nave.  The  exterior  is  a  mass  of  ele- 
gant ornamentation,  and  on  the  north  side,  under  the  win- 
dows, is  a  passage  which  connects  the  porch  of  the  second 
bay  with  the  charnier,  a  sort  of  a  cloister,  built  at 
the  end  of  the  Lady  Chapel,  exterior  to  the  church.     The 


134  PARIS 

enclosure  within  this  cloister  was  formerly  the  little  burial- 
ground  ;  the  great  cemetery  being  situated  in  the  square 
which  fronts  the  church. 

There  is  something  extremely  coquettish  and  fascinating 
about  the  building,  with  its  high-pitched  roof,  springing 
from  a  Renaissance  facade,  and  its  Fifteenth  Century  tower 
surmounted  by  a  pepper-box  lantern. 

The  old  church  of  the  abbey,  which  completely  joined 
Saint-£tienne,  has  been  entirely  swept  away  to  make  room 
for  the  Rue  Clovis ;  but  the  refectory  and  the  tower  still 
form  a  part  of  the  Lycee  Henri  IV.,  a  little  turret  at  the 
easternmost  angle  of  Saint-Etienne  indicating  the  extremity 
of  the  monastery's  domains. 

The  interior  of  Saint-Etienne  is  no  less  singular  than  the 
exterior.  The  side  aisles  are  nearly  as  high  as  the  nave, 
and  have  enormous  windows.  The  shafts  which  support 
the  vault  of  the  nave  are  of  great  height,  and  the  bays  are 
of  the  same  elevation  as  the  side  aisles.  Above  these  bays 
is  a  clerstory,  the  windows  of  which  are  as  broad  as  they 
are  high,  with  depressed  pointed  arches.  In  order  to 
diminish  the  enormous  height  of  the  bays,  the  architect 
conceived  a  curious  device.  At  about  one-third  of  the 
height  of  the  shafts  he  has  thrown  a  depressed  arch  from 
pillar  to  pillar,  which  forms  an  elevated  passage  round  the 
church.  It  is  arrested  at  the  transepts,  but  taken  up  again 
round  the  choir.  The  passage  encircling  each  pillar  is  just 
wide  enough  to  enable  a  person  to  walk.  These  turnees^  as 
the  old  records   call  the  gallery,  and  the  splendid  y«^^  form 


SAINT-ETIENNE  DU  MONT        135 

a  distinctive  feature  of  the  church.  On  the  side  of  the 
nave  the  turnee  has  an  open  pilaster  balustrade,  and  at  the 
entrance  of  the  choir  it  joins  the  jube.  On  each  side  of 
this  spiral  staircase  leading  up  first  to  the  jube ^  and  then,  a 
second  flight  to  the  choir  gallery,  the  former  being  formed 
of  a  single  flying-arch  supported  by  two  pilasters.  The 
whole  screen  is  ornamented  with  rich  carving. 

When  the  Abbey  of  Port-Royal  was  destroyed  in  17 10, 
the  body  of  Racine  was  transferred  to  Saint-Etienne  and 
placed  in  the  crypt  of  the  Lady  Chapel  by  the  side  of 
Pascal;  and  in  1808  a  Latin  epitaph,  composed  by  Boileau, 
which  was  discovered  in  the  pavement  of  the  church  of 
Magny-Ies-Hameaux,  was  also  transferred.  Ten  years 
later,  on  April  21st,  18 18,  a  great  function  was  held  in 
honour  of  the  poet  and  the  author  of  those  much-loved 
Pensees ;  the  Academy  sent  a  deputation,  and  one  of  their 
members,  the  Abbe  Sicard,  officiated. 

Eustache  Lesueur,  the  somewhat  feeble  painter  of  the 
Life  of  Saint-Bruno,  was  also  buried  at  Saint-Etienne. 
Many  other  names  adorn  the  list  of  those  laid  to  rest  in 
the  churches  or  burial  grounds  of  the  parish ;  Vigenere, 
secretary  to  Henri  IIL,  1598;  the  surgeon,  Thognet,  1642; 
Antoine  Lemaistre,  and  Lemaistre  de  Sacy,  brought  from 
Port  Royal  in  1710;  the  botanist,  de  Tournefort,  1708; 
Rollin,  rector  of  the  University,  who  died  in  1741,  in  the 
Rue  Neuve  de  Saint-Etienne  du  Mont,  which  was  re- 
named after  him. 

But  it  is  the  glass  of  Saint-Etienne  which  is  perhaps  its 


136  PARIS 

chief  glory.  Although  a  great  deal  has  been  destroyed  and 
patched  up,  much  remains  which  is  quite  worthy  of  study, 
being  as  it  is,  in  the  best  style  of  the  Sixteenth  and  Seven- 
teenth Centuries,  and  the  work  of  Jean  Cousin,  Claude 
Henriet,  d'Enguerrand  Leprince,  Pinaigrier,  Michu,  Fran- 
cois Periez,  Nicolas  Desengives,  Nicolas  Lavasseur,  and 
Jean  Mounier.  But,  unhappily,  mendings  and  patchings 
have  quite  destroyed  our  power  of  discovering  to  which 
artist  the  different  windows  are  due. 

The  main  attraction  of  Saint-Etienne  is  the  tomb  of 
Sainte-Genevieve.  Long  before  the  Pantheon  ceased  to  be 
the  church  of  the  maid  of  Nanterre,  it  was  to  Saint- 
Etienne  that  the  faithful  journeyed  to  pray  for  her  interces- 
sion, and  to  have  their  belongings  laid  upon  her  coffin.  Here, 
any  day,  but  especially  during  the  octave  of  hery?/*^,  you  may 
see  people  bringing  handkerchiefs,  rosaries,  crosses,  towels, 
etc.,  to  be  placed  in  the  shrine,  in  order  to  carry  the  Saint's 
blessing  and  help  to  the  sick  and  the  suffering  at  home.  The 
stone  coffin  is  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  crypt  of  the 
abbey  church  during  its  demolition  in  1801,  but  whether  it 
be  the  original  one  in  which  Sainte-Genevieve  was  buried 
in  511,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  as  it  is  so  surrounded  by 
ornamental  ironwork  that  its  workmanship  cannot  be 
studied  ;  but  the  effect  of  the  little  chapel  containing  this 
tojnheau^  with  its  lights  and  flowers  and  stained-glass,  is 
very  charming,  and  during  the  neuvaine^  when  the  church  is 
ablaze  with  candles,  and  hundreds  of  people  font  queue  to 
the  shrine,  it  is  a  sight  not  easily  forgotten. 


THE  QUARTIER  LATIN 

THEODORE  DE  BANFILLE 

THE  Quartier  Latin,  a  designation  that  everybody 
understands,  although  it  is  merely  ideal,  and  does 
not  correspond  to  any  of  the  municipalities  of 
Paris,  comprises  almost  the  whole  of  the  fifth  and  sixth 
arrondissements ;  it  is  a  vast  district  which  is  bounded  on 
the  north  by  the  Seine,  Quai  des  Augustins,  Quai  Saint- 
Michel,  and  Quai  Saint-Bernard;  on  the  south  by  the 
Boulevard  du  Montparnasse ;  on  the  west  by  the  Rue 
Bonaparte  ;  on  the  east  by  the  Halle  aux  Vines ;  and  contains 
the  Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts,  I'lnstitut,  la  Monnaie,  Saint 
Germain-des-Pres,  Saint  Sulpice,  la  Charrete,  Le  Luxem- 
bourg, le  Palais  du  Senat,  I'Hotel  de  Cluny,  Saint-Severin, 
Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre,  Saint-Etienne-du-Mont,  I'Ecole  de 
Medicine,  les  lycees  Saint-Louis,  Napoleon  and  Louis-le- 
Grande,  la  Sorbonne,  le  College  de  France,  I'lnstitution 
Sainte-Barbe,  the  libraries  of  Sainte-Genevieve  and 
Mazarine,  I'Ecole  de  Droit,  le  Pantheon,  la  Pitie,  le  Jardin 
des  Plantes,  I'Ecole  normale,  and  I'Ecole  polytechnique. 

No  quarter  has  been  more  profoundly  modified  by  the 
works  that  have  transformed  Paris  than  this  one ;  and  yet 
none  has  better  preserved  its  own  physiognomy ;  for  it 
possesses  a  moral  vitality,  an  idea,  something  like  a  soul  in 

'37 


138  PARIS 

short,  against  which  hammers  and  pick-axes  can  avail  little. 
Thus,  great  boulevards,  altogether  similar  to  those  of 
central  Paris,  boulevards  with  their  wide  causeways,  their 
young  trees,  their  stone  houses,  their  great  commercial 
counters,  and  their  luxurious  shops  have  been  created  and, 
so  to  say,  brought  there  by  magic ;  the  noise,  the  throng, 
and  the  tumult  of  a  busy  life  would  make  one  think  that 
one  was  in  the  heart  of  the  city ;  but  two  steps  away  there 
is  study,  calm,  and  silence  ;  this  new  Paris  which  has  flowed 
thither  like  a  river  has  not  been  able  to  change  the  old 
Paris  that  touches  its  banks  in  the  least ;  side  by  side  with 
the  Boulevard  Saint-Michel,  so  agitated  and  full  of  life,  the 
court  of  the  Sorbonne  still  has  between  its  paving-stones,  as 
in  the  Seventeenth  Century,  the  slender  blades  of  grass  of 
vivid  green  which  give  it  so  sweet  and  so  poetic  an  aspect. 
Opposite  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  so  pompously  restored,  are 
hovels  where  tatters,  faiences,  stamped  metal,  and  old 
furniture  give  us  the  idea  of  a  sleepy  provincial  town  in 
which  land  and  space  are  of  no  account.  Moreover,  and 
this  is  especially  the  strange  anomaly  that  should  be  noted, 
we  scarcely  find  any  remaining  traces  of  the  Quartier 
Latin  of  Balzac  and  Gavarni;  but  that  of  Felibien, 
Dubellay  and  Sauval  still  exists.  You  would  hunt  in  vain 
in  the  street  that  was  the  Rue  Copeau  for  a  youthful 
Rastignac  threatening  Paris  and  summoning  it  to  a  duel, 
but  the  race  of  scholars  of  the  Maistres,  the  Lenormants, 
and  the  £tienne  Bonets  survives  in  spite  of  everything. 
We    must   relegate    among    the    vanished    phantoms    the 


THE  QU ARTIER  LATIN  139 

strange  and  charming  young  man  of  the  £tude  de  Moeurs 
who  said  :  "  I  leave  you  my  pipe  and  my  wife :  take  good 
care  of  my  pipe  !  "  but  the  echo  of  the  Latin  country  has 
not  entirely  forgotten  the  scholar  of  the  Fourteenth  Century 
who  joyously  chanted  the  Departement  des  livres ! 

Chacum  enquiert  et  veut  savoir 
Que  je  aifel  de  mon  avoir, 
Et  comment  je  suis  si  despris 
Que  n'  ai  chape  ne  mantiau  gris, 
Cote,  ne  sorcot,  ne  tabart. 
Tout  est  ale  a  male  part, 

A  Gaudelus  lez  La  Ferte 
La  les  sai-je  mon  A.  B,  C, 
Et  ma  patenostre  a  Soisson, 
Et  mon  Credo  a  Alonloon, 
Et  mes  set  siaumes  a  Tornai, 
Mes  quinze  siaumes  a  Cambrai, 
Et  mon  sautier  a  Besencon, 
Et  mon  kalendier  a  Dijon. 

It  is  true  that  we  may  henceforth  go  through  the  whole 
of  the  old  city  situated  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  with- 
out finding  any  of  the  eccentric  habits  and  customs,  the 
variety  of  which  gave  it  so  essentially  picturesque  a  char- 
acter ;  but  was  not  this  ending  foreseen  !  How  could  the 
student  of  to-day  persist  in  being  what  the  student  of  former 
times  was,  when  the  inevitable  establishment  of  the  Duval 
with  its  mouldings,  its  gildings  and  its  ceilings  of  exotic 
woods  was  installed  in  a  palace,  and  when  in  the  Rue  des 
Gres,  where  the  Middle  Ages  had  strongly  left  their  imprint, 
an  English  tavern  might  be  seen  selling  its  roast  beef,  its 
York   ham,  its   pickles,  its   sauces   of  Hanneton  pile  (see 


140  PARIS 

Balzac)  its  pale  ale  and  its  Irish  whiskey,  as  in  the  Rue 
Royale  and  in  the  Rue  de  la  Madeleine  !  All  cats  are  grey 
at  night;  but  under  the  gas-light  everybody  should  be 
dressed  like  Brummel,  by  Dusautoy  or  Bonne,  and,  in  each 
of  the  taverns  of  the  new  boulevard,  the  gas  sheds  torrents 
of  light  on  the  young  consumers,  without  troubling  about 
the  amount  of  the  income  of  their  parents.  This  is  why  a 
young  man  who  has  an  income  of  three  thousand  francs 
must  spend  four  thousand  at  his  tailor's  to-day.  To  the 
problem :  to  be  content  with  the  money  you  possess,  the 
following  has  succeeded  :  to  get  the  money  we  need ; — a 
problem  the  solution  of  which  is  very  hard  to  find  by  young 
people  whose  studies  cost  a  great  deal  and  do  not  bring 
anything  in,  except  in  the  future. 

But  is  it  solely  and  absolutely  because  the  aspect  of  life 
has  changed  that  the  students  have  entirely  altered  their 
way  of  living  ?  No  !  that  is  one  cause,  but  not  the  only 
one.  Another  reason,  a  thousand  times  more  important 
and  more  decisive,  has  brought  about  the  new  state  of 
affairs,  and  it  is  this.  Formerly,  young  men  invariably 
studied  law  and  medicine  only  for  the  purpose  of  making 
their  living  later  by  practicing  the  art  of  healing,  or  one  of 
the  liberal  professions  to  which  the  study  of  law  serves  as 
a  foundation.  To-day,  this  unity  of  aim  has  been  con- 
siderably modified,  and  the  students  naturally  divide  into 
two  classes.  The  first  (and  these  do  not  form  the  ma- 
jority,) carry  on  this  healthy  and  ancient  tradition ;  but  the 
others,  on  the  contrary,  only  require  from  the  study  of  law 


THE  OUARTIER  LATIN  141 

or  medicine  the  means  promptly  to  enter  a  lucrative  pro- 
fession where  permanent  appointments  offer  a  sweet  se- 
curity. As  for  the  medical  students,  those  who  are  up  to 
date,  and  consequently  want  to  be  rich,  know  that  genius, 
patience,  will,  and  intense  labour  under  the  lamp  are  neces- 
sary to  produce  a  Velpau,  a  Trousseau,  or  a  Piorry,  and, 
not  feeling  the  vocation  of  becoming  that  poor  and  blessed 
providence  that  is  called  a  country  doctor,  they  study  medi- 
cine with  their  thoughts  on  journalism,  and  in  the  direction 
of  special  establishments,  and  thermal  waters,  on  the  dis- 
covery of  marvellous  springs  and  universal  panaceas,  in  a 
word,  not  on  being  doctors. 

Therefore,  among  medical  and  law  students,  it  is  not 
astonishing  that  those  whose  dream  is  to  become  rapidly 
rich  should  adopt  from  the  very  outset  the  livery  and  habits 
that  characterize  the  lovers  of  Rapid  Fortune. 

Formerly,  among  the  students,  the  pure  included  all ! 
Their  parents'  money,  laboriously  and  honourably  gained  in 
the  provinces,  in  the  noble  toils  of  agriculture  or  of  liberal 
professions,  they  intended  to  give  entirely  to  triumphs,  to 
study,  to  curious  researches  of  the  mind ;  and  also,  it  must 
be  confessed,  to  pleasure  and  to  love  (the  reign  of  which  at 
that  day  still  existed),  but  they  did  not  let  it  exclude  in- 
dustry and  social  decency.  For  them,  what  was  necessary 
was  a  solid  and  serious  instruction  gained  by  assiduity  in 
the  various  courses,  by  reaaing  in  their  own  rooms  and  in 
the  libraries,  by  frequenting  the  newspaper  offices,  or  the 
museums,  and  the  theatre,  where  literature  still  flourished : 


142  PARIS 

the  excess  was  those  love  affairs  of  the  joyous  and  flowery 
garret  which  even  so  much  execrable  poetry,  so  many  inept 
lithographs,  and  all  the  poncifs  in  the  world  have  not  suc- 
ceeded in  dishonouring  in  our  memory,  because  they  pos- 
sessed the  delightful  charm  of  poverty,  of  the  unexpected, 
of  disinterestedness  and  of  youth  !  Heroes  of  disorderly 
balls,  school-truants  in  the  days  of  lilac,  hissers  of  neo- 
classic  tragedies  at  the  Odeon,  they  also  knew  how  to  give 
respectful  attention  in  the  classes  of  illustrious  professors, 
to  grow  pale  under  the  lamp  over  their  books,  and  finally 
to  prepare  themselves  by  persistence  and  deep  study  to 
become  useful  men,  and  at  the  same  time  free  from  all 
commercial  fraud.  These  careless  fellows,  these  fools,  in 
fact,  spent  the  best  of  their  youth  in  studying  the  physical 
and  moral  life  of  man,  and  in  silently  weighing  the  most 
serious  problems.  Under  the  iron  hand  of  science,  they 
preserved  a  lively  love  of  art  and  liberty,  and  felt  it  burn 
within  them. 

Let  the  poet  speak,  and  they  responded  to  his  voice  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  fiery  souls;  let  the  hour  strike  for 
shaking  off  a  tyranny,  and  they  dashed  among  bullets, 
bleeding  and  joyous,  their  hands  black  with  powder,  and 
their  voices,  accustomed  to  humming  the  songs  of  love  and 
wine,  intoned  the  brass  strophes  of  la  Marseillaise  with  a 
sublime  thirst  for  death  and  sacrifice  !  Such  was  this  youth 
at  that  day,  ardent,  savage,  singular,  and  so  serious  at  bot- 
tom, whose  fatherland  and  estates  were  the  Quartier  Latin, 
and  who  affected  the  exhibition  of  singular  manners  so  that 


THE  OUARTIER  LATIN  143 

the  peaceable  ordinary  people  who  were  their  neighbours 
should  esteem  themselves  happy  in  letting  them  live  in 
peace  in  their  own  way.  But  in  speaking  of  an  epoch  that 
is  already  distant,  it  is  necessary  to  sketch  the  material 
features  of  the  Quartier  Latin  ;  for  only  by  this  means  will 
the  reader  be  able  to  understand  how  the  students  could 
live  in  Paris  as  if  they  had  been  a  thousand  leagues  away, 
and  in  it  preserve  their  traditions,  their  usages,  and  their 
laws  like  an  independent  nation. 

Two  long  streets,  black,  narrow,  tortuous  and  intermi- 
nable, the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  and  the  Rue  Saint-Jacques,  on 
the  east,  formed  the  communication  between  the  He  de  la 
Cite,  which  was  the  cradle  of  Paris,  and  the  Mont  Sainte- 
Genevieve,  which  was  the  cradle  of  the  University ;  on  the 
west,  the  He  de  la  Cite  was  connected  as  it  still  is  with  the 
Luxembourg  by  the  Rue  Dauphine.  I  desire  in  a  few 
lines  to  show  the  physiognomy  of  the  two  great  streets 
of  the  Quartier  Latin  as  we  might  have  seen  them  before 
the  transformation  of  Paris. 

Scarcely  had  the  stroller  entered  the  Rue  de  la  Vieille- 
Boucherie,  which  was  then  the  beginning  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Harpe,  when  he  felt  that  he  was  not  at  home  and  that  he 
had  just  penetrated  into  domains  particularly  affected  by 
special  people,  among  whom  one  could  only  come  as  a 
stranger  or  a  guest.  Penthouse  shops,  constructed  on  a 
Gothic  model,  black  and  smoky  houses, — nothing  smelt  of 
modern  civilization  ;  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  active 
circulation  of  money  had   not  penetrated  thus  far.     In  the 


144  PARIS 

Rue  de  la  Harpe,  it  was  different  again ;  the  old  hotels,  the 
sombre  houses  with  wrought-iron  balconies  had  allowed 
time  to  blacken  their  noble  facades  tranquilly  ;  as  for  the 
relatively  modern  houses,  corpulent  and  deep,  leaning 
against  one  another  like  infirm  people,  pierced  with  irregular 
windows,  and  sometimes  without  tiles,  only  adorned  by  the 
signs  of  a  few  strange  shops  and  by  the  creeping  plants, 
pots  of  flowers  and  Parisian  gardens  hanging  at  the  old 
windows,  or  at  the  cornices,  from  the  Rue  de  la  Parche- 
minerie,  which  has  not  changed  since  the  Middle  Ages,  to 
the  old  Saint-Michel,  they  naively  and  sincerely  told  of  the 
lives  of  their  inmates.  Moreover,  it  was  quite  useless  to 
consult  the  stones,  and  the  personages  explained  them- 
selves. Young,  gay,  with  breasts  uncovered  without  los- 
ing any  of  their  native  distinction,  coquettishly  clothed  in 
velvet  and  all  kinds  of  fantastic  costumes,  with  Basque 
caps  or  Rubens  hats  on  their  heads,  they  went  along  the 
streets  singing,  lounging,  gaping  in  the  air,  alone,  or  in 
couples,  or  in  troops,  or  three  by  three,  gladly  selling  their 
books  at  the  old  book-sellers'  to  go  to  the  wine-shop ; — a 
custom  which,  as  every  one  knows,  dates  from  the  Fifteenth 
Century  !  At  that  time,  the  exchange  was  conducted  even 
more  frankly,  for  generally  the  book-seller  was  at  the  same 
time  a  tavern-keeper :  so  that  if  the  scholar,  who  came  to 
buy  a  book,  by  chance  felt  the  pangs  of  thirst  he  sold  back 
to  the  book-seller  for  a  jug  of  wine  the  book  he  had  just 
bought  and  which  if  he  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  work  he 
found  himself  forced  to  buy  it  back  again.     Thanks  to  this 


THE  OUARTIER  LATIN  145 

essentially  archaic  and  naive  combination,  the  tavern-book- 
seller realized  splendid  profits  by  constantly  selling  and  re- 
selling the  same  volumes,  a  speculation  of  which  assuredly 
M.  Hachette  or  M.  Michel  Levy  has  never  thought.  In 
seeing  the  happy-go-lucky  ways  that  the  students  allowed 
themselves  about  1840,  gloomy  spirits  might  have  been 
tempted  to  deny  progress  ;  they  would  have  been  mistaken 
however,  and  I  want  no  other  proof  than  these  lines  by  the 
savant,  Quicherat :  "  Except  the  professor's  chair  (in  1500), 
the  classes  had  no  benches  nor  seats  of  any  kind  ;  the 
rooms  were  strewed  with  straw  during  the  winter,  and  fresh 
grass  during  the  summer.  The  pupils  had  to  wallow  in 
this  so-called  glitter  as  an  act  of  humility." 

We  see  that  in  comparison  with  the  past,  which  was 
curious  in  more  ways  than  one,  the  eccentricity  of  the 
young  men  of  1840  was  a  very  small  matter.  Besides,  it 
had  a  more  noble  motive  and  spring  of  action  than  is 
thought.  Having  decided  courageously  to  submit  to  their 
somewhat  harsh  and  rude  destiny,  and  to  study  while  liv- 
ing on  almost  nothing,  so  as  not  to  involve  their  families  in 
debt,  the  students  accepted  their  honest  misery  with  an  out- 
ward semblance  of  gaiety  and  ardent  folly,  preferring  to 
scandalize  the  Boertians  than  to  excite  their  tenderness  and 
pity,  while  casting  over  their  poverty  the  sole  mantle  that 
ever  successfully  hid  the  lack  of  money :  the  careless 
fantasy  of  the  artist !  Much  wiser  at  bottom  than  they 
seemed  to  be,  they  wore  Basque  caps  for  the  sake  of  econ- 
omizing the  sixteen  francs  required  for  a  silk  hat ;  and  not 


146  PARIS 

being  able  to  buy  well-made  hats  they  went  about  in  little 
fool's-caps  and  in  light  robes  painted  with  flowerets.  Not 
possessing  any  means  to  provide  themselves  with  luxuries, 
and  with  it  to  make  sad  and  false  great  ladies,  at  least  they 
did  not  refuse  them  their  arm ;  they  acknowledged  them 
with  sincere  affection  and  showed  them  with  pride  in  the 
full  noonday  glare  !  It  was  slight  courage,  moreover,  for, 
not  being  obliged  to  appear  rich,  these  girls  took  the  trouble 
to  be  young,  and  adorned  with  childish  grace,  and  fresh  as 
roses,  at  a  time  when  people  did  not  yet  abuse  that  flour 
improperly  called  rice-powder  !  They  have  been  celebrated 
thousands  and  thousands  of  times, — those  lovers  of  the  first 
spring  and  of  the  twentieth  year,  who  loved  songs  and 
whose  entire  toilette  was  not  worth  a  couple  of  louis ! 
They  have  not  been  celebrated  sufficiently  even  yet ;  for, 
sprung  from  the  people,  they  worked  without  fearing  the 
pricks  of  the  needle  ;  they  inhabited  garrets  furnished  above 
all  with  the  garland  of  fresh  flowers  at  the  old  window ; 
they  loved  their  lovers  without  thinking  of  getting  them- 
selves enriched  or  married,  and  without  any  pretention  save 
that  of  spending  with  them  those  years  of  youth  that  so 
quickly  fly  away  ;  and,  when  the  dream  came  to  an  end, 
they  bravely  continued  their  daily  work,  they  sewed  !  And 
when  they  had  returned  to  the  humble  sphere  of  their  fleet- 
ing amours,  they  made  memories  that  charmed  the  whole 
of  a  rough  and  laborious  life.  As  for  the  students,  they  had 
the  courage  to  love  them  without  ruining  their  families  for 
them.     Nowadays    perhaps  they  would  have  the  right  to 


THE  OU ARTIER  LATIN  147 

be  less  scrupulous  ;  for,  in  a  family  where  the  son  plays  at 
the  Bourse  like  his  father,  he  can  sometimes  say  to  himself 
that  his  father  has  the  chance  of  awakening  to-morrow 
morning  a  millionaire,  and,  if  not  his  father,  then  perhaps 
himself.  But  at  that  time  we  were  far  from  the  beautiful 
days  of  the  Bourse  and  its  maddening  enchantments ! 


HOTEL  DE  CLUNY 

PROSPER  MERIMEE 

PIERRE  DE  CHASLUS,  Abbe  de  Cluny,  about 
1340,  acquired  for  his  order  the  Roman  ruins 
known  under  the  name  of  the  Palais  des  Thermes, 
situated  in  Paris  between  the  Rue  Saint-Jacques  and  the 
Rue  de  la  Harpe.  In  this  place  a  century  later,  another 
Abbe  de  Cluny,  Jean  de  Bourbon,  the  natural  son  of  John 
I.,  Duke  of  Bourbon,  laid  the  foundation  of  the  Hotel  that 
exists  to-day.  Probably  these  works  accelerated  the  ruin 
of  various  parts  of  the  ancient  palace,  which  at  that  period 
presented  a  considerable  series  of  buildings.  As  is  known, 
it  had  been  built  by  Constantine  Chlorus,  and  successively 
occupied  by  Julian,  Valentinian  and  Valens  during  the  stay 
of  those  Emperors  in  the  north  of  Gaul.  Some  of  our 
kings  of  the  first  and  second  race  held  their  court  there. 
On  looking  at  the  immense  halls  that  still  exist  and  the 
Roman  sub-structures,  traces  of  which  are  found  through- 
out the  quarter,  we  can  gain  an  idea  of  the  truly  colossal 
proportions  of  the  ancient  palace. 

The  death  of  Jean  de  Bourbon,  in  1485,  interrupted  the 
building  of  the  Hotel  that  had  been  begun  ;  but,  five  years 
afterward,  it  was  resumed  by  his  successor,  the  Abbe  Jacques 
d'Amboise  (brother  of  the  cardinal),  afterwards  Bishop  of 

Clermont,  who  completed  it. 

148 


HOTEL  DE  CLUNY  149 

Superb  and  magnificent,  in  fact,  must  have  been  the 
abode  of  the  rich  abbes  who  were  brought  to  the  court  by 
their  affairs.  They  were  not  the  people  to  put  up  in  an  inn, 
much  less  in  a  monastery.  Their  house,  as  they  modestly 
called  it,  in  15 15  lodged  a  queen,  Mary  of  England,  widow 
of  Louis  XIL,  and  sister  of  Henry  VIIL  In  1536,  James 
v..  King  of  Scotland,  on  the  day  of  his  entry  into  Paris, 
alighted  at  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  where  he  was  received  by 
Francois  L,  who  was  going  to  give  his  daughter,  Magdeleine, 
to  him  in  marriage. 

After  the  kings,  the  princes  of  the  House  of  Lorraine 
and  the  Papal  Nuncios  lodged  in  the  House  of  Cluny.  I 
cannot  say  whether  the  abbes  leased  or  lent  it,  but  I  incline 
to  the  latter  for  they  were  sufficiently  great  lords  to  exer- 
cise hospitality  even  toward  sovereigns.  However,  at  the 
end  of  the  Eighteenth  Century  the  hardness  of  the  times 
obliged  them  to  get  some  return  from  their  property. 

The  Revolution  did  not  allow  them  to  collect  their  rents 
very  long.  Alienated  for  the  national  good,  the  Hotel  de 
Cluny  passed  successively  through  the  hands  of  several 
owners.  Industries  were  established  there  which  paid  little 
attention  to  repairs,  or,  if  any  were  made,  they  only  resulted 
in  altering  the  character  of  the  building. 

None  of  those  who  were  brought  to  the  Hotel  de  Cluny 
by  curiosity  had  thought  of  making  the  slightest  attempt 
of  rescuing  from  the  vandals  a  monument  so  remarkable 
by  its  architecture  and  memories  until  1833,  when  M.  A. 
du  Sommerard,  Councillor  in  the  Cour  des  Comptes  came 


150  PARIS 

to  establish  himself  in  it  with  his  rich  collection.  To-day, 
when  financiers  and  beautiful  women  pay  gold  by  the 
pound-weight  for  more  or  less  antique  curiosities,  it  is 
hard  to  explain  how  a  magistrate  who  only  possessed  a 
modest  fortune  had  succeeded  in  gathering  together  so 
much  furniture  and  so  many  rarities  of  the  Middle  Ages 
and  the  Renaissance.  The  fact  is  he  had  appreciated  the 
merit  of  these  objects  before  the  vile  flock  of  imitators  ;  he 
had  studied  the  Middle  Ages  at  a  time  when  no  one  cared 
about  them.  Admiring  the  beautiful  under  all  its  forms, 
he  had  early  perceived  that  in  making  goblets  or  caskets, 
Benvenuto  Cellini  had  shown  himself  as  skillful  an  artist 
as  when  he  modelled  his  Perseus.  M.  du  Sommerard  had 
hunted  through  Italy  and  France  collecting  all  the  ancient 
utensils  and  furniture  on  which  he  found  an  elegant  and 
characteristic  ornamentation.  He  had  first  attached  him- 
self to  the  productions  of  the  Renaissance ;  but  he  was  not 
one  of  those  amateur  maniacs  who  adopt  an  epoch  and  who 
indiscriminately  buy  everything  associated  with  it  good  or 
bad,  for  the  sake  of  completing  it^  as  they  say  in  their  jargon. 

M.  du  Sommerard  had  too  much  good  taste  to  fall  into 
that  rut.  At  a  period  when  the  art  of  the  Middle  Ages 
was  at  once  entirely  unknown  and  despised,  he  eagerly 
sought  enamels,  ivories,  and  all  that  mass  of  admirably- 
wrought  furniture  that  had  escaped  the  destructions  that 
are  unfortunately  so  frequent  in  our  country. 

On  establishing  himself  in  the  Hotel  de  Cluny,  only  one 
apartment  of  which  he  occupied,  M.  du  Sommerard  con- 


HOTEL  DE  CLUNY  151 

stituted  himself  the  benevolent  conservator  of  the  last 
civil  edifice  of  the  Middle  Ages  which  existed  after  so  many 
transformations  of  old  Paris.  At  his  death,  in  1842,  the  de- 
struction of  the  Hotel  de  Cluny  would  have  been  a  public 
scandal.  It  was  feared  that  the  collection  so  often  coveted 
by  rich  foreigners  might  be  dispersed  and  lost  to  the  country. 
At  the  desire  expressed  by  the  Commission  of  Historical 
Monuments,  the  Government  brought  forward  a  law  for 
the  acquisition  of  the  Hotel  and  the  Collection.  If  my 
memory  serves  me,  the  law  passed  almost  without  discus- 
sion, and  the  city  of  Paris  immediately  hastened  to  offer  to 
the  State  as  a  free  gift  the  Palais  des  Thermes,  contiguous 
to  the  Hotel,  and  municipal  property  since  1819.  Thus, 
by  a  happy  concurrence  of  circumstances,  these  two  curi- 
ous edifices  were  finally  preserved  for  the  Arts  and  received 
the  most  fitting  destiny  :  the  Roman  palace  offered  an  asy- 
lum to  the  scattered  fragments  of  ancient  Lutetiaj  the 
Hotel  of  the  Fifteenth  Century  was  opened  to  the  mediaeval 
productions  of  art  and  industry.  The  new  establishment, 
constituted  by  the  law  of  July  24th,  1843,  was  placed  un- 
der the  superintendence  of  the  Commission  of  Historical 
Monuments. 

The  collection  of  M.  du  Sommerard  was  piled  up  in  a 
somewhat  narrow  apartment.  Although  largely  augrnented 
by  recent  acquisitions,  it  is  now  comfortable  in  vast  halls 
where  it  has  received  a  methodic  classification  which  has 
not  excluded  a  picturesque  disposition.  Whilst  the  anti- 
quarian bending   over  a  glass   case   studies  an  enamel  or  a 


ip  PARIS 

faience  plate,  a  painter  studies  the  effects  of  light  playing 
over  carved  woods,  or  reflected  in  the  armour.  Among  the 
numerous  visitors  to  the  museum,  one  often  notices  young 
workmen  with  an  intelligent  look  who  know  how  to  handle 
the  rule  and  pencil,  taking  notes  and  measurements  before 
some  old  piece  of  furniture.  They  are  right.  There  are 
few  industries  which  have  not  something  to  learn  and  to 
take  from  the  Cluny  museum.  The  positive  economist 
gentlemen,  who  declaim  against  the  expenditures  on  our 
museums  and  Fine  Art  schools,  might  have  recognized 
from  the  Great  Exhibition  in  London  how  much  our 
manufactures  owe  to  these  establishments. 

The  ground-floor  of  the  Hotel  de  Cluny  is  devoted  to  furni- 
ture of  large  dimensions,  statues,  and  hangings  of  all  kinds. 

The  beautifully-carved  staircase,  bearing  the  arms  and 
monograms  of  Henri  IV.,  and  Catherine  de  Medicis,  es- 
tablishes the  necessary  communication  between  the  rooms 
on  the  ground-floor  and  those  of  the  first  story.  This 
staircase,  made  for  the  old  Chambre  des  Comptes,  after  the 
demolition  of  the  latter,  had  been  relegated  to  the  shops  of 
the  city.  The  Prefet  de  la  Seine  presented  it  to  the 
museum,  for  which  one  might  think  it  had  been  made. 

A  volume  would  be  required  for  the  mere  enumeration 
of  the  principal  objects  exhibited  in  the  rooms  on  the  first 
story,  furniture,  arms,  paintings,  pottery,  faience,  enamels, 
glass,  and  carved  ivories.  Let  us  mention  the  great  carved 
chimney-pieces  from  Troyes  and  Chalons,  beautiful  re- 
tables  of  the   Fourteenth  and  Fifteenth  Centuries,  and  es- 


HOTEL  DE  CLUNY  153 

pecially  the  magnificent  ivories  of  the  Chartreuse  de  Dijon, 
known  as  the  Oratory  of  the  Duchesses  of  Burgundy. 

Although  the  Musee  de  Cluny  is  not  as  rich  as  many 
amateurs,  it  has  several  advantages  over  them.  In  the 
first  place  it  is  immortal ;  it  buys  and  does  not  sell.  In  the 
second  place  it  is  patient,  because  it  is  immortal,  and  conse- 
quently it  is  insensible  to  the  caprices  of  fashion,  so  power- 
ful over  collectors.  When  the  fashion  runs  to  enamels  and 
they  attain  extravagant  prices  at  sales,  the  administration 
whose  mission  is  to  seek  the  beautiful  and  the  useful  and 
which  can  always  wait  and  choose,  leaves  enamels  alone  and 
acquires  ivories  or  carved  wood.  Patience !  Ivories  will 
soon  be  up  and  enamels  will  soon  be  within  their  resources. 

I  must  not  forget  the  gifts  and  legacies  that  form  a  no- 
table portion  of  the  collection.  And  first  we  must  mention 
the  very  numerous  and  very  well-placed  gifts  of  the  city 
of  Paris.  The  Hotel  de  Cluny,  with  the  Palais  des 
Thermes,  is  its  principal  museum.  It  is  quite  right  that  it 
should  have  been  chosen  for  the  reception  for  a  mass  of  antique 
or  mediaeval  fragments  that  were  formerly  dispersed  and 
badly  kept  in  twenty  different  depots.  Every  day  the 
great  works  that  transform  Paris  bring  interesting  debris  of 
our  ancient  city ;  some  day  they  will  form  the  most  pre- 
cious collection  for  its  monumental  history.  Following  the 
example  of  the  Municipal  body,  several  private  persons 
have  been  willing  to  contribute  to  enrich  a  collection  where 
all  sympathies  meet.  I  lack  the  space  here  to  give  a  list  of 
the  gifts  and  donors  which  would  be  interminable. 


154  PARIS 

The  Hotel  de  Cluny  is  a  historical  monument  that  con- 
tains historical  monuments ;  to-day  it  is  the  sole  edifice  in 
Paris  that  can  give  a  complete  idea  of  a  seignorial  habita- 
tion of  the  Fifteenth  and  Sixteenth  Centuries.  It  had 
suffered  various  cruel  wrongs  at  the  hand  of  Time,  but 
more  especially  at  the  hand  of  man  :  its  last  ovi^ners  had 
mutilated  some  of  its  dispositions  as  though  wantonly. 
After  the  Hotel  came  into  the  possession  of  the  State, 
various  important  repairs  were  made.  Unfortunately,  it 
was  necessary  to  proceed  very  slowly  and  to  acquire  with 
no  less  economy.  However,  all  the  parts  of  the  edifice 
that  were  repaired  have  been  restored  in  a  complete  man- 
ner. In  proportion  as  the  condition  of  a  given  room  de- 
manded a  partial  restoration,  the  ancient  dispositions  were 
restored  with  the  most  scrupulous  exactitude. 

The  establishment  of  the  Musee  de  Cluny  has  exercised 
a  most  happy  influence  upon  the  Quartier  Saint-Jacques. 
The  Municipal  administration  has  cleared  a  space  for  it, 
and  the  Rue  des  Mathurins,  formerly  a  narrow  and  danger- 
ous lane,  has  been  entirely  transformed.  All  the  ignoble 
houses  that  deprived  the  Hotel  de  Cluny  of  light  and  air 
have  disappeared.  The  great  Rue  des  Ecoles  now  opens 
out  before  the  museum.  Let  us  hope  that  by  further 
demolition  the  complete  perimeter  may  be  discovered  of 
the  Palais  des  Thermes  the  sub-structions  of  which,  which 
are  still  visible  at  various  points,  seem  to  mark  the  natural 
limits  of  the  Hotel  de  Cluny. 


THE   SORBONXE, 


LA  SORBONNE 

S.  SOPHIA  BEALE 

ANOTHER  institution  which  owes  its  initiative  to 
Saint-Louis  is  the  Sorbonne,  actually  founded  in 
1250  by  Robert  de  Sorbon,  a  canon  of  Paris, 
for  sixteen  poor  students  in  theology.  The  present  church 
is  a  fine  example  of  the  Seventeenth  Century  Classicism, 
such  as  the  world  of  that  day  affected.  Jacques  Lemercier 
was  the  architect,  and  the  great  Cardinal  the  paymaster, 
and  between  them  they  turned  out  a  very  respectable  piece 
of  work  with  a  certain  sense  of  grandeur,  and  a  very  fine 
dome,  the  first  that  figured  in  Paris.  It  was  built  between 
1635  and  1659.  Within,  is  the  marble  tomb  of  Richelieu, 
the  work  of  Girardon  (1694)  from  the  design  of  Lebrun. 
The  great  man  reclines  gracefully  upon  a  couch  supported 
by  a  figure  of  Religion,  and  a  weeping  lady  of  Science  at 
his  feet.  It  has  not  the  feeling  of  the  Renaissance  sculp- 
ture, and  although  Religion  forms  a  principal  part  of  the 
composition,  it  is  purely  and  simply  a  secular  design.  It 
might  be  the  memorial  of  a  Pagan,  and  it  would  be  just  as 
appropriate  in  a  town  hall,  a  garden,  or  a  theatre  ;  but  that 
perhaps  gives  it  the  more  fitness  as  the  monument  of  so 
singular  a  churchman  and  so  farcical  a  Christian.  The 
wary    Cardinal    turns    up    his    face    and    piously  gazes    at 

153 


156  PARIS 

Heaven  as  if  that  were  his  only  thought ;  he  appears  over- 
whelmed with  holiness  and  sanctity,  a  veritable  Pecksniff 
arrayed  in  the  gorgeous  robes  of  a  prince  of  the  holy 
Roman  Church.  But  artistically,  the  composition  is  fine, 
far  finer  than  any  of  the  works  of  the  Seventeenth  Cen- 
tury, and  one  feels  that  could  the  figure  rise,  it  would  move 
about  with  the  same  grace  as  that  portrayed  in  the  noble 
portrait  of  the  great  statesman  by  Philippe  de  Champaigne 
in  the  Louvre.  As  posthumous  retribution  for  his  crimes 
and  vices,  Richelieu's  head  was  chopped  ofF  into  three 
pieces  in  1793,  and  remained  fragmentary  until  i86i,when 
they  were  patched  together.  The  church  also  contains 
a  painting  by  Hesse  of  little  value,  Robert  de  Sorbon  pre- 
sentant  a  Saint  Louis  de  jeunnes  eleves  en  theologie^  and  some 
statues  by  Romy  and  Bure. 


SAINT-SEVERIN 

S.  SOPHIA  BE  ALE 

THE  church  of  Saint-Severin  is  particularly  inter- 
esting as  showing  a  gradual  development  from 
the  Thirteenth  to  the  Sixteenth  Century. 
Founded  upon  the  site  of  an  oratory  by  Henri  I.,  in 
1050,  it  was  first  rebuilt  at  the  end  of  the  Eleventh 
Century. 

There  were  two  saints  of  this  name ;  one,  the  founder 
of  the  Abbey  Chateaulandon,  who  miraculously  cured 
Clovis  I.  of  some  sickness  by  placing  his  chasuble  upon 
him ;  and  the  other,  the  patron  of  this  church,  a  man,  or 
rather  a  hermit,  who  lived  during  the  reign  of  Childebert 
I.,  in  a  cell  near  Paris,  and  was  of  course  much  given  to 
prayer  and  supplications,  and  other  pious  exercises.  So 
well  did  he  preach  his  pacific  faith,  that  Saint  Cloud,  or 
Clodoaldus,  the  grandson  of  Queen  Clotilde,  became  one 
of  his  disciples,  and  received  the  religious  habit  of  the  Ben- 
edictine order  from  him. 

Saint-Severin  was  probably  buried  near  the  oratory,  and 
what  would  be  more  natural  than  that  the  disciple  should 
consecrate  the  spot  to  the  memory  of  his  master  ?  In 
1050  Henri  I.  gave  the  patronage,  which  had  been  up  to 
his  reign  in  the  hands  of  the  kings,  to  the  then  Bishop  of 

157 


158  PARIS 

Paris,  Imbert.  At  the  end  of  the  Eleventh  Century  it  be- 
came an  enormous  parish,  extending  almost  over  the  whole 
of  the  southern  part  of  the  city.  It  is  now  the  centre  of 
the  Italion  legion,  models,  organ-grinders,  white-mice  men, 
and  plaster-image  venders ;  and  it  is  a  pretty  sight  on  Sun- 
days andy^/^-days  to  see  the  church  packed  with  emigrants 
from  the  sunny  South  decked  out  in  all  the  splendour  of 
their  holiday  attire. 

The  present  church  of  Saint-Severin  was  rebuilt  in  the 
Thirteenth  Century,  in  great  part  by  money  obtained  by 
indulgences,  which  Clement  VI.,  in  1347,  accorded  to  the 
generously  inclined  among  the  faithful.  In  the  next  cen- 
tury this  system  was  revived,  and  the  church  wardens,  with 
shrewd  foresight,  bought  up  more  ground,  with  a  view  to 
the  enlargement  of  the  building.  The  first  stone  of  the 
new  part  was  laid  in  1489,  the  chapel  of  Saint-Sebastian 
being  built  three  years  later.  In  1490  the  chapel  of  the 
Conception,  which  was  situated  near  the  east  end,  was  de- 
molished to  make  way  for  the  lengthening  of  the  north 
aisle.  Five  years  later,  Jean  Simon,  Bishop  of  Paris,  con- 
secrated the  new  portions  of  the  church,  including  the  high 
altar,  and  several  of  the  chapels  of  the  chevet.  In  1498  the 
chapels  on  the  south  side  were  commenced  by  Micheaul 
le  Gros;  the  sacristy  and  treasury  being  added  in  1540, 
and  the  chapel  of  the  Communion  in  1673,  to  make  an 
entrance  for  which  the  chapel  of  Saint  Sebastian  had  to  be 
destroyed.  Thus  for  four  hundred  years,  more  or  less,  the 
church  was  undergoing  constant  change  and  development. 


SAINT-SEVERIN  159 

Then  began  the  downward  path,  commencing  with  the  de- 
struction of  the  jub'e  and  the  "  ornamentation  "  of  the 
sanctuary  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  devotees  of  Classic  art. 
Originally,  many  of  the  Paris  churches  had  jubes  (rood- 
screens),  but  the  only  one  now  remaining  is  that  of  Saint- 
Etienne  du  Mont.  A  brass  attached  to  one  of  the  pillars 
gives  the  names  of  the  donors  of  the  screen,  Antoine  de 
Compaigne  (illuminator)  and  his  wife,  Oudette. 

The  portal  is  profusely  carved  and  bears  an  inscription 
upon  the  stylobate  (the  letters  of  which  are  of  the  Thirteenth 
Century),  giving  the  various  duties  of  the  grave-diggers. 
As  in  many  other  churches,  there  are  two  lions  on  each 
side  of  the  arch,  probably  the  supports  formerly  of  some 
heraldic  shields.  This,  no  doubt,  is  the  origin  of  the 
formula,  which  terminates  certain  ecclesiastical  judgments 
pronounced  on  the  threshold  of  the  temple,  Datum  inter 
duos  hones.  The  tympanum  bas-relief  has  been  restored. 
It  represents  the  charity  of  Saint-Martin,  who  is  one  of 
the  patrons  of  the  church,  and  whose  mutilated  mantle,  or 
a  portion  of  it,  has  been  one  of  the  cherished  relics  of 
Saint-Severin  since  the  Fourteenth  Century.  There  is  also 
a  chapel  dedicated  to  the  venerable  bishop  of  Tours,  which 
was  formerly  covered  with  ex  voto  horseshoes,  the  gifts  of 
thankful  travellers ;  for  Saint-Martin  having  been  on  horse- 
back when  he  divided  his  cloak,  became  the  patron  of  the 
travelling  community.  The  western  facade  is  composed 
of  portions  of  the  portal  of  Saint  Pierre-aux-Boeufs  in  the 
Cite,   which   was   demolished    in    1837,   and   is,   the   little 


i6o  PARIS 

which  has  been  left  unrestored,  of  the  Thirteenth  Century. 
Above  the  porch  of  Saint-Severin  are  an  open  work  gallery, 
a  rose  window,  and  a  cornice  upon  which  a  party  of  little 
animals  are  playing  among  the  foliage,  all  in  Flamboyant 
style.  The  statue  of  the  Virgin  is  quite  modern.  The 
whole  of  the  chapels,  as  well  as  the  greater  part  of  the 
nave,  are  of  the  Fifteenth  and  Sixteenth  Centuries ;  but  the 
first  three  bays  of  the  nave  are  of  a  totally  different  style; 
the  form  of  the  arches  and  of  the  windows  shows  the  crafts- 
manship of  the  Thirteenth  Century  artists.  Birds  and 
beasts,  natural  and  grotesque,  form  gargoyles,  shooting  the 
rain-water  from  their  open  mouths.  At  the  northwest  end 
of  the  chapels,  an  elegantly  carved  canopied  niche  encloses 
the  patron  Saint,  and  near  him  is  an  inscription  inviting  the 
passers-by  to  pray  for  the  souls  of  the  departed. 

The  interior  consists  of  a  nave  and  double  aisles.  The 
triforium  is  very  similar  to  that  of  Westminster  Abbey 
Church ;  but  at  the  commencement  of  the  apse,  the  Thir- 
teenth Century  arches  were  filled  in  with  round-headed 
ones,  Cupid-like  Cherubs  being  placed  between  the  two  to 
"  ornament "  the  intervening  space,  and  the  pillars  converted 
into  marbled  pilasters. 

It  was  Mile,  de  Montpensier  who  caused  the  marbling 
of  the  choir  to  be  undertaken  in  1684,  and  who  also  bore 
the  expenses  of  the  baldachino  of  the  altar,  employing  the 
sculptor  Tubi  to  carry  out  the  designs  of  Lebrun. 

In  the  south  aisle,  on  the  south,  is  a  little  door  leading 
through  a  garden,  formerly  the  graveyard,  to  the  preshyiere. 


SAINT-SEVERIN  161 

This,  in  summer,  forms  a  charming  little  picture.  In  one 
of  the  side  chapels  (Notre-Dame  de  I'Esperance)  is  a  Fif- 
teenth Century  wall-painting  of  the  Resurrection  of  the 
Dead;  rjid  in  the  chapel  of  the  chevet  a  Preaching  of  fohn 
the  Baptist^  also  in  fresco. 

A  number  of  distinguished  persons  were  buried  at  Saint- 
Severin  :  Etienne  Pasquier,  an  eloquent  Avocat-G'en'eral 
under  Henri  III.,  who  was  mainly  instrumental  in  causing 
the  exclusion  of  the  Jesuits  from  the  University,  and  who 
died  in  1615;  the  brothers  Saint-Martre,  celebrated  men 
of  letters  living  at  the  beginning  of  the  Seventeenth  Cen- 
tury ;  and  Moreri,  the  author  of  the  Dictionnaire  Historique^ 
who  died  in  1680. 

The  church  contains  no  furniture  of  any  value  artistic- 
ally, except  perhaps,  the  organ  and  wrought-iron  gallery, 
erected  in  1747  to  replace  an  earlier  instrument  of  15 12. 

A  good  deal  of  the  stained  glass  is  of  the  Fifteenth  and 
Sixteenth  Centuries,  and  bears  the  figures  and  arms  of  the 
donors  (some  of  whom  appear  by  their  long  robes  to  have 
been  magistrates),  accompanied  by  their  wives  and  families. 
The  subjects  are  the  usual  ones  taken  from  the  New  Tes- 
tament, or  from  the  lives  of  the  Saints ;  but  a  few  are 
somewhat  out  of  the  beaten  track. 


THE  PANTHEON 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 

THE  Pantheon  has  stood  the  test  of  a  hundred  years 
of  criticism,  without  which  no  building  can  be 
sure  of  permanent  fame.  Its  merits  are  not  of  a 
kind  to  excite  enthusiasm,  but  they  gain  upon  us  with  time 
and  satisfy  the  reason  if  they  do  not  awaken  the  imagina- 
tion. We  can  never  feel  with  regard  to  a  severe  classical 
building  like  the  Pantheon  the  glow  of  romantic  pleasure 
which  fills  sense  and  spirit  in  Notre-Dame  or  the  Sainte- 
Chapelle.  If  there  is  emotion  here  it  is  of  a  different  kind. 
The  building  has  a  stately  and  severe  dignity ;  it  is  at  once 
grave  and  elegant,  but  it  is  neither  amusing  as  Gothic 
architecture  often  is  by  its  variety,  nor  astonishing  as 
Gothic  buildings  are  by  the  boldness  with  which  they  seem 
to  contravene  the  ordinary  conditions  of  matter.  The 
edifice  consists  of  a  very  plain  building  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  with  a  pediment  on  pillars  at  one  end  and  a  dome 
rising  in  the  middle.  There  are  no  visible  windows,  an 
enunciation  that  adds  immensely  to  the  severity  and  gravity 
of  the  composition,  while  it  enhances  the  value  of  the 
columns  and  pediment,  and  gives  (by  contrast)  great  addi- 
tional lightness  and  beauty  to  the  admirable  colonnade  be- 
neath the   dome.     There   does  not  exist,  in  modern  archi- 

162 


THE  PANTHEON  163 

tecture,  a  more  striking  example  of  a  blank  wall.  The 
vast  plain  spaces  are  overwhelming  when  seen  near,  and 
positively  required  the  little  decoration  which,  in  the  shape 
of  festooned  garlands,  relieves  their  upper  portion.  At  a 
little  distance  the  building  is  seen  to  be,  for  the  dome,  what 
a  pedestal  is  for  a  statue  ;  and  the  projection  of  the  tran- 
septs on  each  side  of  the  portico,  when  the  edifice  is  seen 
in  front,  acts  as  margin  to  an  engraving.  Had  their  plain 
surfaces  been  enriched  and  varied  with  windows,  the  front 
view  would  have  lost  half  its  meaning  ;  the  richness  of  the 
Corinthian  capitals  and  sculptured  tympanum,  and  the  im- 
portance of  the  simple  inscription,  draw  the  eye  to  them- 
selves at  once. 

The  situation  of  the  Pantheon  is  the  finest  in  Paris  for 
an  edifice  of  that  kind.  Only  one  other  is  comparable  to 
it,  Montmartre,  on  which  is  now  slowly  rising  a  church  of 
another  order,  dedicated  to  the  Sacr'e  Cceiir.  The  dome  of 
the  Pantheon  is  one  of  the  great  landmarks  of  Paris ;  it  is 
visible  from  every  height,  and  from  a  thousand  places  of  no 
particular  elevation.  It  does  not  simply  belong  to  its  own 
quarter,  but  to  the  whole  city. 

The  interior  is  interesting  in  different  ways,  both  as  an 
experiment  in  architecture  and  as  an  experiment  in  the  em- 
ployment of  mural  painting  on  an  important  scale.  The 
first  point  likely  to  interest  an  architectural  student  is  the 
manner  in  which  the  architect  has  combined  his  vaults  and 
his  pillars.  Soufflot's  tendency  (unlike  that  of  the  archi- 
tects  of  St.    Peter's   in  Rome  and  St.   Paul's  in  London) 


i64  PARIS 

was  toward  an  excessive  lightness.  His  project  was  to 
erect  his  dome  on  elegant  pillars ;  but  these  were  found  in- 
sufficient, and  another  architect  (Rondelet)  replaced  them 
by  massive  piers  of  masonry.  Elsewhere  there  are 
Corinthian  columns  carrying  a  frieze  and  cornice,  and 
above  the  cornice  a  groined  (intersected)  vault,  of  course 
with  round  arches,  and  having  exceedingly  slender  termina- 
tions, as  this  system  of  vaulting  cuts  away  nearly  every- 
thing and  leaves  a  minimum  of  substance  at  the  corners  to 
bear  the  weight. 

There  is  a  remarkable  peculiarity  about  the  level  of  the 
floor;  the  aisles  and  transepts  are  higher  than  the  nave  into 
which  you  have  to  descend  by  five  steps.  The  general 
aspect  of  the  interior  is  agreeable,  from  the  pleasant  natural 
colour  of  the  stone  and  its  thoroughly  careful  finish  every- 
where ;  but  the  large  spaces  of  wall,  though  divided  by 
half-columns,  were  felt  to  be  too  bare. 

Mural  painting  ought  never  to  make  us  feel  as  if  the 
wall  were  taken  away,  because  that  is  an  injury  to  the 
architecture.  The  painting  should  be  so  far  removed  from 
realism  that  we  feel  the  wall  to  be  a  wall  still,  upon  which 
certain  events  have  been  commemorated.  Among  French 
mural  painters,  not  one  has  understood  this  so  well  as  Puvis 
de  Chavannes,  and  it  would  have  been  wise  to  entrust  to 
him  the  entire  decoration  of  the  Pantheon,  both  for  the 
sake  of  the  architecture  and  for  the  unity  of  the  work ;  but 
unfortunately  (so  far  as  these  considerations  are  concerned), 
other  men  have  also  been  called  in,  men  of  great  ability, 


THE  PANTHEON  165 

no  doubt,  yet  who  were  not  disposed  to  make  the  neces- 
sary sacrifices.  Puvis  de  Chavannes  is  essentially  a  mural 
painter.  His  large  work  in  the  Pantheon  represents  the 
finding  of  Sainte-Genevieve  when  a  child  by  Saint-Germain 
and  Saint-Loup,  at  Nanterre,  when  they  were  journeying 
toward  England.  The  bishop  sees  that  the  child  has  a 
religious  aspect,  "has  the  Divine  seal  upon  her,"  and  pre- 
dicts for  her  a  memorable  future.  This  takes  place  in  a 
vast  landscape,  with  undulating  ground  and  fine  trees  in  the 
middle  distance  against  a  line  of  blue  hills,  and  a  blue  sky 
with  white,  long  clouds.  In  the  foreground  is  a  rustic 
scene,  including  the  milking  of  a  cow  under  a  shed ;  and 
in  the  middle  distance  we  have  a  view  of  Nanterre,  or  at 
least  of  a  mediaeval  city.  The  figures  are  all  very  simply 
painted  in  dead  colour,  kept  generally  pale  and  hardly  going 
beyond  tints,  which  are  often  false  so  far  as  nature  is  con- 
cerned, but  never  discordant.  Such  painting  is  very  reti- 
cent, very  consistent ;  and,  though  it  is  not  true,  it  contains 
a  great  amount  of  truth,  and  implies  far  more  knowledge 
than  it  directly  expresses.  The  landscape  background,  for 
example,  is  simple,  but  it  is  not  ignorant;  it  shows  quite 
plainly  that  the  painter  is  a  man  of  our  own  centur)',  per- 
fectly conversant  with  our  knowledge,  yet  decided  not  to 
go  beyond  a  certain  fixed  point  in  the  direction  of  actual 
imitation.  The  figures  are  exceedingly  dignified  ;  but 
when  the  painter  gets  away  from  the  muscular  type,  and 
has  to  deal  with  weaker  men  or  with  children,  he  is  not  so 
satisfying.     A  smaller  picture  represents  the  child  Sainte- 


i66  PAHIS 

Genevieve  praying  in  a  field,  while  the  rustics  watch  and 
admire  her.  The  sentiment  here  is  very  pure  and  simple, 
like  that  of  an  idyllic  poem.  In  the  upper  part  of  the 
composition  a  ploughboy,  behind  trees,  watches  the  saint 
while  his  oxen  rest;  in  the  lower  part,  a  peasant  man  and 
woman  watch  her  also. 

Now,  although  these  paintings  tell  their  story  perfectly, 
not  a  single  person  or  other  object  in  them  is  so  far  realized 
as  to  make  us  forget  the  wall-surface.  A  story  has  been 
told  upon  the  wall  just  as  an  inscription  might  have  been 
written  upon  it,  but  nothing  has  been  done  to  take  the  wall 
away.  Even  the  pale  tinting  is  so  contrived  as  not  to  con- 
trast too  violently  with  the  natural  stone  around  it.  Let 
the  visitor  who  has  just  seen  these  paintings,  and,  perhaps, 
been  a  little  put  out  by  their  conventionalism,  glance  up 
from  them  to  the  pendentives  under  the  dome  painted  by 
Carvallo  from  drawings  by  Gerard.  Those  works  are 
strong  in  darks,  and  in  far  more  powerful  relief  than  the 
situation  warrants.  They  are  also  surrounded  by  heavily 
gilt  carvings,  which  make  the  surrounding  stone  look  poor; 
in  short,  from  the  architectural  point  of  view,  they  are  a 
series  of  vulgar  blunders.  I  would  not  use  language  of 
this  kind  with  reference  to  so  serious,  so  noble  an  artist  as 
John  Paul  Laurens,  but  I  cannot  help  regretting  that  his 
magnificent  composition  of  the  death  of  Sainte-Genevieve 
was  not  in  some  public  gallery  rather  than  in  the  Pan- 
theon. The  realization  is  far  too  powerful  for  a  mural 
painting.     We  do  not  see  a  record  on  a  wall,  but  the  wall 


THE  PANTHEON  167 

is  demolished,  and  through  the  opening  we  witness  the 
scene  itself,  the  infinitely  pathetic  closing  scene  at  the  end 
of  a  saintly  life,  when,  even  in  the  last  moments  of  ex- 
tremest  weakness,  a  venerable  woman  still  throws  into  the 
expression  of  her  countenance  the  benedictions  that  she 
cannot  utter.  One  consequence  of  the  external  force  with 
which  all  the  figures  and  objects  are  realized  in  full  model- 
ling and  colour  is  that  the  two  columns  which  cross  the 
work  vertically  are  felt  to  be  in  the  way  j  in  other  words, 
the  architecture  of  the  Pantheon  is  in  the  way,  and  so  far 
from  helping  the  architect,  the  painter  has  done  him  an 
injury,  for  what  are  smoothly  chiselled  stones,  what  are 
fluted  columns  and  pretty  Corinthian  capitals,  to  the  awful 
approach  of  Death  ? 

On  the  other  mural  paintings  in  the  Pantheon  we  have 
no  need  to  dwell.  So  far  as  I  know  them  yet,  they  belong 
to  the  class  of  historical  genre  common  in  the  French 
salons,  and  have  neither  the  power  of  Laurens  nor  the  care- 
ful adaptation  of  Puvis  de  Chavannes.  Cabanel's  pictures 
represent  three  scenes  in  the  history  of  Saint-Louis, — one 
his  childhood,  when  he  is  being  taught  by  his  mother ;  the 
second,  his  civil  justice ;  and  a  third,  his  military  life  as  a 
Crusader.  The  first  subject  is  the  best  suited  to  Cabanel's 
talent,  and  is  a  pretty  domestic  scene.  The  subject 
selected  by  M.  Maillot  for  his  paintings  in  the  south  tran- 
sept is  a  medizeval  procession  with  the  relics  of  Sainte-Gen- 
evieve,  and  these  paintings  are  a  good  example  of  a  danger 
different  from  the  powerful  realization  of  Laurens.     In  the 


i68  PARIS 

present  instance  the  evil  is  a  crudity  of  a  brilliant  colour, 
like  mediaeval  illumination,  which  always  seems  out  of 
place  on  a  wall  unless  it  is  carried  out  consistently  by  poly- 
chromatic decoration  throughout  the  building. 

It  is  sometimes  said  by  journalists  that  these  paintings 
are  frescos  (wall-paintings  are  generally  taken  for  frescos). 
The  fact  is  that  they  are  oil-paintings  on  toile  viaroujiee^ 
that  is,  on  canvas  fastened  to  the  wall  by  a  thick  coat  of 
white-lead.  This  is  now  the  accepted  method  for  mural 
painting  in  France.  It  is  convenient  for  the  artist,  as  it 
allows  him  to  paint  in  his  own  studio  on  a  material  he  is 
accustomed  to  use ;  and  it  is  believed  to  be  as  permanent  as 
any  other. 


THE  LUXEMBOURG 

LOUIS  ENAULT 

ENGLISH  gardens  must  have  been  invented  by 
small  ownership.  Small  property  delights  in 
making  illusions  for  itself,  in  pretending  space  it 
does  not  possess,  and  in  consoling  itself  for  what  it  lacks 
by  the  unexpected,  by  detour^  by  surprise  and  by  deceiving 
the  eye.  A  clump  of  trees  negligently  placed  on  the  right 
masks  the  neighbouring  house  ;  this  haha  skilfully  conceals 
the  common  ditch  ;  behind  those  tendrils  of  clematis  and 
jasmine,  set  somewhat  too  close  to  the  windows,  there  is  a 
party  wall.  But  when  we  own  wide  domains,  when  we 
are  not  obliged  to  measure  out  our  ground  regretfully  and 
with  a  niggardly  hand,  then  the  facade  of  our  palace  is 
majestically  developed  ;  we  want  to  feel  free  air  and  pure 
light  about  us ;  the  beds  sweep  away  of  themselves  and 
expand ;  the  gardens  become  parks,  the  alleys  are  avenues 
that  lengthen  and  extend,  opening  endless  walks  before  our 
feet  and  distant  perspectives  of  vast  horizon  before  our 
eyes. 

Such  is  the  Luxembourg. 

Rarely  has   an   artist's  genius  raised   a  nobler  palace  for 
the  princes  of  the  earth  ;  nowhere  do  the  same  lines  of  the 

architecture  and  the  undulous   and  supple  lines  that  softly 

169 


lyo  PARIS 

round  the  plants  and  trees  combine  in  more  harmonious 
union.  If  we  were  to  consider  the  palace  by  itself  we 
should  perhaps  find  it  a  trifle  heavy — it  was  made  so  by 
Louis  Philippe — but,  nevertheless,  it  cuts  a  fine  figure  and 
has  a  grand  air  amid  its  gardens. 

In  the  Sixteenth  Century  what  is  now  the  Luxembourg 
was  the  domain  of  a  simple  gentleman,  Robert  de  Harley 
de  Sancy.  The  Duke  of  Luxembourg  purchased  it  in 
1580.  He  restored  and  enlarged  it.  A  few  years  later, 
Marie  de  Medicis  acquired  it  for  ninety  thousand  francs  ; 
then  she  summoned  Jacques  Desbrosses  and  ordered  a  pal- 
ace from  him.  Jacques  Desbrosses  remembered  the  Pitti 
Palace  where  Marie's  happy  childhood  had  been  spent ;  he 
took  inspiration  from  it  without  imitating  it.  That  pa- 
vilion of  the  facade,  surmounted  by  a  cupola  and  set  in  the 
centre  of  a  gallery  flanked  by  two  other  pavilions,  that 
square  tower  formed  by  long  parallelograms  of  buildings 
with  pavilions  at  the  centre  and  at  the  angles,  that  is  Flor- 
entine architecture,  it  is  the  disposition  of  the  great  abodes 
of  the  French  feudal  lords  of  the  Sixteenth  Century. 

The  palace  presents  three  distinct  orders  that  are  repro- 
duced throughout.  On  the  ground  floor  is  the  Tuscan 
order, — that  is  the  memory  of  the  Pitti  Palace  ; — on  the 
first  floor  is  the  Doric  order,  and  the  Ionic  order  on  the 
second.  We  enter  the  palace  by  two  principal  facades  : 
one,  looking  on  the  Rue  de  Tournon,  the  other,  looking 
on  the  garden.  The  whole  ground  floor  is  in  arcades 
formed  by  piers  ornamented  with  pilasters  cut  by  bossages. 


THE  LUXEMBOURG  171 

The  Doric  order  of  the  next  floor  has  its  entablature  orna- 
mented with  triglyphs  and  metopes ;  the  bossages  that 
round  the  angles  are  in  alternate  bands,  and,  instead  of 
being  continuous  in  height,  they  are  placed  on  the  columns, 
pilasters  and  piers  in  turn. 

The  interior  of  the  Palace,  the  distribution  of  which  is 
most  happy,  comprises  a  magnificent  staircase,  called  the 
staircase  of  honour,  built  by  Chalgrin,  a  guardroom,  a 
waiting-room  for  the  ushers,  a  room  for  the  messengers  of 
the  throne,  a  conference-hall,  a  council-chamber,  a  throne- 
room,  and,  lastly,  the  hall  of  the  sessions  of  the  Senate. 
The  hall  of  the  sessions,  very  favourably  disposed  as  to 
acoustics,  is  formed  of  two  opposed  and  unequal  hemi- 
cycles :  the  smaller  contains  the  desk  ;  the  greater,  the  seats 
of  the  senators.  The  two  hemicycles  are  adorned  with 
carved  oakwork  by  Klagman,  Triquetti  and  Elschouet. 
Above  the  woodwork  rise  columns  of  stucco  in  both  hemi- 
cycles, but  their  decoration  is  not  the  same  in  each.  In 
the  intercolumniation  of  the  larger,  public  tribunes  have 
been  arranged  ;  in  the  smaller,  the  similar  space  is  occupied 
by  the  statues  of  legislators.  The  vault  is  cylindrical  with 
its  coving  pierced  by  two  wide  glass  windows  ;  its  ground  is 
gold,  sown  with  arabesques,  gold  on  gold.  The  piers  of  the 
coving  are  decorated  with  paintings  in  wax  of  a  very  pretty 
effect ;  gold  smiles  and  glitters  everywhere  on  the  branches 
and  acanthus  leaves  :  it  is  almost  overpowering. 

The  rostrums  have  disappeared. 

The   library   with    its   vast  windows   opening   upon   the 


172  PARIS 

garden  is  enriched  by  a  ceiling  representing  the  Elysian 
Fields,  upon  which  Delacroix  has  lavished  the  harmonious 
treasures  of  his  palette,  and,  so  to  speak,  exhausted  the 
entire  chromatic  scale. 

All  who  love  beautiful  walks,  full  of  freshness  and 
shadow  amid  memories  and  flowers,  will  pass  enchanted 
hours  in  the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg. 

The  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg,  like  the  palace,  the 
work  of  Jacques  Desbrosses,  are  at  once  large  without 
uniformity  and  majestic  without  monotony  j  with  exquisite 
art  they  combine  variety  with  unity :  nothing  could  be 
simpler  than  the  general  plan,  nor  more  ingenious  than  the 
manner  in  which  this  happy  plan  is  modified  and  renewed 
at  every  moment.  Before  the  centre  of  the  palace  a  vast 
parterre,  adorned  with  flowers  mingled  with  shrubs  and 
sward  contains  an  octagon  basin  in  which  swans  sport  and 
swim  about  gently  while  pruning  their  white  plumage.  On 
either  side  the  ground  slopes  sharply  upward  planted  with 
rose-trees  and  enclosed  by  a  double  iron  balustrade.  These 
slopes  support  great  terraces  adorned  with  shrubs  and  small 
trees,  laburnums  with  golden  trails,  hawthorns,  and  great 
lilacs  that  shower  down  a  soft  rain  of  perfume  from  their 
blossoms.  All  this  charming  and  delicate  vegetation  is 
supported  by  great  clumps  of  chestnuts,  the  sombre  foliage 
of  which  lends  a  vigorous  background  against  which  these 
thousand  details  stand  out.  Then  amid  the  groves  in  the 
shade  and  among  the  flowers  are  all  the  glories  of  the 
female    Pantheon    of    France,    made    divine    in    marble. 


THE  LUXEMBOURG  173 

Before  all  others,  as  the  purest  and  most  radiant,  let  us 
salute  Jeanne  d'Arc,  that  maiden  who  was  a  great  man, — 
then  St.  Clotilde,  Anne  of  Brittany,  Anne  of  Provence, 
Anne  of  Austria,  Anne  de  Beaujeu,  Valentine  de  Milan, 
Mile,  de  Montpensier — la  grande  Mademoiselle, — Clem- 
ence  Isaure,  Jeanne  Hachette,  Catherine  de  Medicis :  I 
purposely  mix  those  who  were  queens  with  those  who 
deserved  to  be. 

However,  let  us  not  forget  the  High  Priestess  of  the 
Gauls,  the  sacred  Druidess  Velleda,  crowned  with  vervain ; 
she  is  pale  for  she  has  beheld  the  fasces  of  a  consul  and  she 
forgets  her  golden  sickle  and  the  mistletoe  sacred  to  the 
Gallic  Diana. 
Casta  Diva! 

A  superb  alley  extends  the  gardens  as  far  as  the  observa- 
tory, that  saw  Marshal  Ney's  blood  flow. 

It  seems  that  in  this  beautiful  garden — solitude  and 
silence  in  Paris — everything  invites  the  soul  to  meditation, 
calm  and  peace.  Formerly,  when  strolling  amid  its  vast 
alleys,  one  could  see  the  tops  of  those  pious  refuges  where 
the  noise  of  the  tempests  of  the  world  had  died  away — the 
convents  or  the  cloisters  of  the  Feuillantines,  Ursulines, 
Carmelites,  Filles  de  la  Providence,  Filles  du  Calvaire,  des 
Carmes,  des  Chartreux,  des  Capucins  and  des  Jesuits. 

And  now  beyond  the  high    round  tops  of  its  great  trees 
what    do  we    see  ?     The   dome   of   Sainte-Genevieve,  the 
cupola  of  Val-de-Grace,  and  the  towers  of  Saint-Sulpice. 
Marie  de  Medicis  passed  several  years  in  the  Palace  of 


174  PARIS 

the  Luxembourg — it  was  then  called  the  Palais-Medicis. 
She  lived  there  as  a  prisoner  rather  than  as  a  queen.  The 
Cologne  exile  soon  left  the  Luxembourg  to  her  second  son, 
Gaston  d'  Orleans,  It  was  then  the  Palais  d'  Orleans. 
After  him  the  Luxembourg  fell  to  Mile,  de  Montpensier, 
the  fiery  heroine  of  the  Fronde,  to  her  who  had  the  cannon 
of  the  Bastille  trained  upon  the  king's  troops.  "  There," 
said  Mazarin,  "  is  a  cannon  shot  that  has  just  killed  her 
husband  !  "  After  having  coveted  the  thrones  of  France, 
England,  Spain  and  Germany,  "la  Grande  Mademoiselle  " 
received  a  Gascon  cadet  in  the  Royal  alcoves  of  the  Lux- 
embourg. Later  the  Luxembourg  was  inhabited  by  the 
Regent  and  his  daughters — all  the  capital  sins — and  then  by 
the  Comte  de  Provence  who  had  received  it  from  Louis 
XVI.  The  Terror  turned  the  Luxembourg  into  a  prison, 
and  the  Directory  made  a  dining-room  and  a  boudoir  of  it. 
It  was  the  first  palace  of  the  consulate,  then  the  palace  of 
the  imperial  Senate,  and  of  the  restored  Peers.  There  Louis 
Blanc,  after  February,  held  what  was  called  in  the  lauguage 
of  the  day,  the  £tats  Generaux  du  Travail.  The  senate 
entered  it  with  the  Empire. 

The  Musee  du  Luxembourg  is  the  Louvre  of  living 
artists. 

In  1661,  there  was  collected  in  the  Musee  du  Luxembourg 
ninety-eight  pictures  comprising  canvasses  by  Raphael, 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  Titian,  Veronese,  Correggio,  Poussin, 
Claude  Lorraine,  Carracchio,  Van  Dyck  and  Rembrandt; 
very  soon  the  Rubenses  of  the  Medicis  gallery  were  added. 


THE  LUXEMBOURG  175 

These  pictures  remained  at  the  Luxembourg  till  the 
Comte  de  Provence  came  to  live  there  ;  shortly  before 
1789,  they  were  transported  to  the  Louvre,  From  1802 
to  1 8 15,  there  was  a  little  museum  at  the  Louvre.  In 
18 15  the  pictures  again  crossed  the  Seine. 

It  was  Louis  XVIII.  who  decided  that  the  Luxembourg 
should  become  the  asylum  of  the  masterpieces,  purchased 
by  the  State,  of  living  painters  and  sculptors,  and  that  their 
works  should  remain  there  ten  years  after  their  death  till 
the  best  of  the  good  ones  among  them  should  be  selected 
to  enter  into  the  serene  immortality  of  the  Louvre. 

That  was  a  great  and  fruitful  idea;  but  its  execution 
demanded  intelligence  in  art  and  independence  of  character 
in  the  agents  in  power. 


SAINT-GERMAIN  DES  PR6S 

S.  SOPHIA  BEALE 

'*"  ¥  ^HE  Abbey  of  Saint-Germain-in-the-fields,  of  which 
I         nothing  remains  but  the  church  and  abbot's  palace, 

"^  was,  after  Notre-Dame,  the  oldest  foundation  in 
Paris.  It  dates  back  to  the  earliest  period  of  the  French 
monarchy,  and  its  history  is  interwoven  with  that  of  some 
of  the  best  and  noblest  sons  of  France.  The  Saint  to 
whom  this  church  is  dedicated  was  an  early  bishop  of  Paris, 
and  must  not  be  confounded  with  Saint-Germain  of 
Auxerre. 

The  foundation  of  the  abbey  was  in  this  wise.  Childe- 
bert  I.  having  made  a  second  expedition  against  the  Visi- 
goths in  Spain,  returned  in  543  with  much  loot  of  various 
kinds.  What  could  be  more  natural,  in  the  Sixth  Century, 
than  to  consult  a  holy  man  as  to  the  future  destination  of 
such  valuables  ?  Accordingly,  Childebert  communed  with 
Saint-Germain  on  the  subject,  and  the  bishop,  suggesting  the 
foundation  of  a  church  as  a  fitting  home  for  the  treasures, 
the  king  laid  the  first  stone  amid  the  green  fields  and  woods 
of  what  is  now  the  densely  populated  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main. The  church  was  originally  dedicated  to  the  Holy 
Cross    and    Saint-Vincent,   the    consecration   taking   place 

upon  the  very  day  of  Childebert's   death   in   558.     It  was 

176 


SAINT-GERMAIX-DES-PRES. 


SAINT-GERMAIN  DES  PRES        177 

cruciform  in  plan ;  the  roof,  which  was  covered  with 
plaques  of  gilt  copper,  was  supported  by  enormous  marble 
columns ;  the  walls  decorated  with  paintings  upon  gold 
grounds,  were  pierced  with  numberless  windows;  and  the 
pavement  was  laid  in  mosaic.  At  the  end  of  the  church 
was  the  chapel  of  Saint-Symphorien,  which  in  576  became 
the  burial-place  of  good  Bishop  Germain,  and  was  subse- 
quently the  scene  of  many  wondrous  and  miraculous  cures. 
Before  the  foundation  of  Saint-Denis  by  le  bon  roy  Dagobert, 
Saint-Germain  served  as  the  burial-place  of  the  Merovingian 
kings  and  their  consorts.  Thus,  during  the  Sixth  and 
Seventh  Centuries,  the  following  princes  were  interred 
there;  the  Kings  Childebert  I.,  Cherebert,  Chilperic  I., 
Clotaire  II.,  and  Chilperic  II.,  the  Queens  Ultrogothe, 
Fredegonde,  Bertrude,  and  Bilihilde ;  the  sons  of  Merovee, 
Clovis,  and  Dagobert ;  the  Princesses  Chrodesinde  and 
Chrotberge,  daughters  of  the  first  Childebert.  Some  of  these 
stone  coffins  may  be  seen  at  the  Hotel  Carnavalet. 

The  only  part  of  the  church  which  contains  any  remains 
of  Childebert's  structure  is  the  apse,  into  the  triforium  of 
which  are  built  some  early  white  marble  capitals  and  some 
various  coloured  marble  shafts  ;  but  inasmuch  as  they  have 
been  painted  over,  all  interest  in  them  is  destroyed. 

The  earliest  part  of  the  present  church  dates  from  the 
beginning  of  the  Eleventh  Centurj-,  the  choir  and  apse  from 
the  second  half  of  the  Twelfth  Centur\'.  The  best  view  of 
the  apse  with  its  flying-buttresses  is  to  be  obtained  from  the 
garden  of  the  abbot's  palace ;  but  since  the  clearing  away 


178  PARIS 

of  the  houses  which  formerly  were  almost  built  on  to  the 
church,  and  the  planting  of  gardens  round  it,  the  view  is 
very  picturesque  from  any  point.  An  insignificant  Seven- 
teenth Century  porch  leads  to  the  west  door,  which  is  un- 
derneath the  tower,  and  has  in  its  upper  tympanum,  a 
much  mutilated  bas-relief  of  The  Last  Supper.  The  tower 
has  been  so  much  restored  and  renovated  from  time  to  time 
that  little  of  the  original  remains.  It  has  a  high,  but 
stumpy  spire  covered  with  slates.  Of  the  other  two 
towers,  which  were  formerly  at  the  angles  of  the  choir  and 
transepts,  nothing  remains  but  the  bases,  which  were  con- 
sidered necessary  for  the  support  of  the  church. 

The  building  is  two  hundred  and  sixty-five  feet  long, 
sixty-five  feet  broad,  and  fifty-nine  feet  high.  The  nave  is 
divided  into  five  bays  ;  the  choir  into  four,  and  the  apse 
into  five ;  but  these  latter  are  much  narrower  than  those  of 
the  nave.  In  the  Seventeenth  Century,  the  timber  roof  of 
Abbot  Morard  gave  place  to  a  stone  vault,  the  transepts 
were  rebuilt,  and  the  nave  much  altered  j  but  quite  recently 
it  has  been  restored  to  i<ts  primitive  condition  and  decorated 
with  frescoes  by  Hippolyte  Flandrin.  The  church  having 
been  used  during  the  Revolution  as  a  saltpetre  manufactory, 
the  corrosive  waters  had  so  undermined  the  foundations  of 
the  pillars  that  they  were  obliged  to  be  supported  by 
enormous  scaffoldings  while  the  bases  were  repaired. 

The  choir  and  the  apse  were  surrounded  by  square  and 
polygonal  chapels.  The  lower  arches  are  round,  the  upper 
pointed  j  the  intermingling  being  in  no  way  inharmonious. 


SAINT-GERMAIN  DES  PRtS        179 

Most  of  the  present  capitals  are  copies  of  the  tv/clve  re- 
maining original  ones  which  were  transferred  to  the  garden 
of  the  Hotel  de  Cluny ;  but  they  are  of  very  inferior  work- 
manship. The  old  capitals  are  rough,  but  full  of  character, 
whereas  the  modern  ones  are  utterly  devoid  thereof.  A 
few  old  ones  may  be  studied  embedded  in  the  walls  of  the 
aisles.  The  choir,  beautiful  in  its  vigorous  simplicity,  re- 
mains as  the  Twelfth  Century  left  it.  It  was  dedicated  by 
Pope  Alexander  III.,  on  the  21st  of  April,  1163;  and  on 
the  same  day  Hubald,  bishop  of  Ostia,  assisted  by  three 
other  bishops,  consecrated  the  apsidal  chapels.  On  enter- 
ing the  church  at  the  west  end,  and  looking  toward  the 
altar,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  building  deviates  considerably 
from  a  straight  line.  Saint  Etienne  du  Mont  is  even  more 
out  of  a  straight  line — it  turns  more  than  any  church  I  have 
seen.  The  columns  resemble  those  of  Notre-Dame  in  their 
massiveness.  All  the  arches  of  the  choir  and  chapels  are 
round,  but  those  of  the  apse  and  clerstory  are  pointed. 
The  capitals  of  these  choir  pillars  are  all  worthy  of  study, 
being  in  the  best  style  of  the  period,  and  full  of  the  quaint 
symbolism  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  human  heads  of  a  grotesque 
style,  lions,  harpies,  birds  pecking  vigorously  at  the  heads 
of  men  and  women,  griffins,  and  winged  animals.  The 
bases  are  all  ornamented  with  foliage ;  but  between  the 
second  and  third  chapels  on  the  south  side  is  an  example  of 
ornament  which  is  probably  unique,  viz,  two  slippers,  one 
embroidered  and  one  plain,  evidently  those  of  a  bishop  or 
abbot. 


i8o  PARIS 

The  original  High  Altar,  renovated  in  1704,  has  been 
destroyed  since  1792,  up  to  which  time  it  had  existed  in  all 
its  pristine  beauty  and  splendour.  The  tomb  of  Saint-Ger- 
main, which  was  the  scene  of  so  many  miracles  and  won- 
ders, has  been  suppressed  and  covered  up  by  the  pavement. 
It  was  sunk  below  the  level  of  the  church,  near  the  fourth 
column  of  the  choir  on  the  north  side,  and  for  centuries 
was  a  favourite  spot  for  prayer  and  meditation.  The  chapel 
of  Saint-Symphorien,  at  the  end  of  the  nave  on  the  south 
side,  is  modern,  having  been  consecrated  by  the  great 
teacher,  Saint-Francois  de  Sales,  on  the  27th  of  April, 
1619;  the  monument  which  marked  the  first  burial-place 
of  Saint-Germain  being  no  longer  in  it.  The  chapels  of 
Saint-Marguerite  and  of  Saint-Casmir,  in  the  transept,  are 
ornamented  with  marble  columns.  That  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  is  modern,  and  in  wretched  taste ;  and  the  High 
Altar,  the  first  stone  of  which  was  laid  by  Pius  VII.,  is 
equally  out  of  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  church. 

In  an  apsidal  chapel  are  some  fragments  of  Thirteenth 
Century  glass,  representing  Saints  Anna  and  Joachim,  The 
Annunciation  and  the  Marriage  of  the  Virgin.  In  the  south 
side  of  the  nave  is  a  large  marble  statue,  called  Notre- 
Dame  la  Blanche,  given  in  1340  by  Jeanne  d'Evreux  to 
the  Abbey  of  Saint-Denis.  Placed  at  the  Revolution  in 
the  Musee  des  Petits-Augustins,  it  was  afterward  trans- 
ferred to  Saint-Germain.  The  marble  statue  of  Saint- 
Marguerite  is  by  one  of  the  brothers  of  the  convent, 
Jacques    Bourletj     and    that    representing    Saint-Francois 


SAINT-GERMAIN  DES  PRES         181 

Xavier  is  by  Coustou  the  younger.  The  following  tombs 
were  partially  restored  in  1824:  Jean  Casimir,  King  of 
Poland,  who,  having  renounced  his  throne,  became  abbot 
in  1669,  and  died  in  1672  (the  kneeling  figure  is  by 
Marsy,  the  bas-relief  by  Jean  Thibaut,  of  the  Congregation 
of  Saint  Maur) ;  Olivier  and  Louis  de  Castellan,  killed  in 
the  service  of  the  king  in  1664  and  1669  (the  figures  and 
medallions  are  by  Girardon) ;  William  Douglas,  eighteenth 
earl  of  Angus,  who  died  in  161 1,  and  his  grandson,  James 
Douglas,  killed  in  1645,  near  Douai,  aged  twenty-eight. 
The  epitaphs,  which  the  Academy  set  up  in  18 19  to  the 
memory  of  Nicholas  Boileau,  of  Rene  Descartes,  of  Jean 
Mabillion,  and  of  Bernard  de  Montfaucon,  which  were 
formerly  at  the  Musee  des  Petits-Augustins,  were  placed 
here  on  the  disposal  of  that  museum.  Boileau  reposed 
formerly  in  the  Sainte-Chapelle,  and  Descartes  at  Sainte- 
Genevieve.  What  remained  of  the  royal  tombs  was  trans- 
ferred to  Saint  Denis.  Of  the  riches  of  the  Treasury 
nothing  whatever  was  saved ;  it  was  all  pillaged  and  dis- 
persed. 

The  whole  church  has  been  painted  in  polychrome ;  red 
shafts  and  gilded  capitals,  a  blue-and-gold  starred  vault. 
All  round  the  nave,  transepts,  and  choir,  just  below  the 
clerstory,  are  the  exquisite  frescoes  by  Flandrin. 


SAINT-SULPICE 

S.   SOPHIA  BE  ALE 

ki"X      T'ONDER  majestic  portico  forms  the  west  front 
A/  of  the  church  called  Saint  Sulpice. 

"^  It  is  at  once  airy  and  grand.     There  are  two 

tiers  of  pillars,  of  which  this  front  is  composed  ;  the  lower 
is  Doric,  the  upper  Ionic ;  and  each  row,  as  I  am  told,  is 
nearly  forty  French  feet  in  height,  exclusively  of  their  en- 
tablatures, each  of  ten  feet.  We  have  nothing  like  this, 
certainly,  as  the  front  of  a  parish  church,  in  London. 
When  I  except  Saint  Paul's,  such  exception  is  made  in 
reference  to  the  most  majestic  piece  of  architectural  com- 
position which,  to  my  eye,  the  wit  of  man  hath  yet  ever 
devised.  The  architect  of  the  magnificent  front  of  Saint- 
Sulpice  was  Servandoni ;  and  a  street  hard  by  (in  which 
Dom  Brial,  the  father  of  French  history  resides)  takes  its 
name  from  the  architect.  There  are  two  towers — one  at 
each  end  of  this  front,  about  two  hundred  and  twenty  feet 
in  height  from  the  pavement ;  harmonizing  well  with  the 
general  style  of  architecture,  but  of  which  that  to  the  south 
(to  the  best  of  my  recollection)  is  left  in  an  unaccountably 
if  not  shamefully  unfinished  state.  These  towers  are  said 
to  be   about  one  toise   higher  than  those  of  Notre-Dame. 

The  interior  of  this  church  is  hardly  less  imposing  than  its 

182 


SAIN  r-SULFlCK. 


SAINT-SULPICE  183 

exterior.  The  vaulted  roofs  are  exceedingly  lofty;  but, 
for  the  length  of  the  nave,  and  more  especially  the  choir, 
the  transepts  are  disproportionally  short,  nor  are  there  suf- 
ficiently prominent  ornaments  to  give  relief  to  the  massive 
appearance  of  the  sides.  These  sides  are  decorated  by 
fluted  pilasters  of  the  Corinthian  order,  which  for  so  large 
and  lofty  a  building  have  a  tame  effect.  There  is  nothing 
like  the  huge,  single,  insulated  column,  or  the  clustered 
slim  pilasters,  that  separate  the  nave  from  the  side  aisles  of 
the  Gothic  churches  of  the  early  and  middle  ages. 

"  The  principal  altar  between  the  nave  and  the  choir  is 
admired  for  its  size  and  grandeur  of  effect,  but  it  is  cer- 
tainly ill-placed  ;  it  is  perhaps  too  ornamental,  looking  like 
a  detached  piece  which  does  not  harmonize  with  the  sur- 
rounding objects.  Indeed,  most  of  the  altars  in  French 
churches  want  simplicity  and  appropriate  effect,  and  the 
whole  of  the  interior  of  the  choir  is  (to  my  fastidious  eye 
only,  you  may  add)  destitute  of  that  quiet  solemn  character 
which  ought  always  to  belong  to  places  of  worship.  Rich, 
minute  and  elaborate  as  are  many  of  the  Gothic  choirs  of 
our  own  country,  they  are  yet  in  harmony  and  equally  free 
from  a  frivolous  and  unappropriate  effect.  Behind  the 
choir  is  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady,  which  is  certainly  most 
splendid  and  imposing.  Upon  the  ceiling  is  represented 
the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  and  the  walls  are  covered 
with  a  profusion  of  gilt  ornament,  which,  upon  the  whole, 
has  a  very  striking  effect.  In  a  recess  above  the  altar  is  a 
sculptured  representation  of  the  Virgin  and  Infant  Christ  in 


i84  PARIS 

white  marble,  of  a  remarkably  high  polish ;  nor  are  the 
countenances  of  the  mother  and  child  divested  of  sweetness 
of  expression.  They  are  represented  upon  a  large  globe, 
or  with  the  world  at  their  feet  j  upon  the  top  of  which, 
slightly  coiled,  lies  the  '  bruised '  or  dead  serpent.  The 
light  in  front  of  the  spectator,  from  a  concealed  window  (a 
contrivance  to  which  the  French  seem  partial),  produces  a 
sort  of  magical  effect.  I  should  add  that  this  is  the  largest 
parochial  church  in  Paris,  and  that  its  organ  has  been  pro- 
nounced to  be  matchless. 

"  This  magnificent  structure  is  the  production  of  several 
periods  and  of  several  artists.  Anne  of  Austria  laid  the 
foundation  stone  in  1636,  under  the  superintendence  of 
Levau.  Levau  died  shortly  afterward,  and  was  succeeded 
by  Gittard  and  Oppenard.  The  finish  was  received  by 
Servandoni,  who,  in  the  west  front,  or  portico,  left  all  his 
predecessors  far  behind  him.  The  church  was  dedicated 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  The  towers  are  the 
joint  performances  of  Maclaurin  and  Chalgrin ;  but  the 
latter  has  the  credit  of  having  rectified  the  blunders  of  the 
former.  He  began  his  labours  in  1777;  but  both  the 
south  tower,  and  the  Place^  immediately  before  the  west 
front,  want  their  finishing  decorations." 

I  have  quoted  this  long  dissertation  by  Dibden  because  I 
do  not  think  a  better  description  of  the  church  could  be 
given ;  but  the  writer  is  wrong  in  some  of  his  details.  The 
church  was  commenced  in  1646,  not  '36,  the  first  architect 
being  Christophe  Gamart.     The  finishing  stroke  was  put 


SAINT-SULPICE  185 

by  Jean  Servandoni,  the  funds  being  provided  by  means  of 
a  lottery  started  by  the  energetic  cuj-'e  Languet  de  Gergy. 
I  cannot  endorse  Dibden's  praise  of  the  chapel  of  the 
Virgin  by  De  Wailly,  the  surrounding  paintings  by  Vanloo, 
and  the  Slodtz  brothers'  decorations.  It  is  all  very  splendid 
with  gold  and  marbles,  and  the  statue  by  Pajou  is  looked 
upon  as  a  chef-d'ceuvre.  The  cupola,  wdth  an  Assumption 
painted  by  Lemoine,  is  graceful ;  but  the  effect  of  light  is 
theatrical  to  the  last  degree,  and  the  whole  chapel  is  want- 
ing in  dignity  and  the  religious  feeling  without  which  a 
building  fails  as  a  Christian  church.  Another  statue  of  the 
Virgin,  a  Notre-Dame  des  Douleurs,  by  Bouchardon,  a 
great  tomb  of  the  cure  Languet  de  Gregy,  by  Michel-Ange 
Slodtz,  and  the  pulpit  given  in  1788  by  the  Marechal  de 
Richelieu,  are  all  very  grandiose,  but  fail  utterly  to  impress 
one;  whereas  the  two  shells  serving  as  holy-water  stoops, 
given  to  Francois  I.  by  the  Republic  of  Venice,  are  charm- 
ing examples  of  pure  Renaissance  sculpture.  The  general 
effect  of  the  church,  by  its  enormous  size  alone,  is  exceed- 
ingly grand ;  but,  being  entirely  of  stone,  it  is  cold  and 
colourless. 

In  the  west  chapel,  dedicated  to  the  souls  in  Purgatory, 
are  pictures  by  Heim ;  and  in  other  chapels,  works  by  Abel 
de  Pujol,  Vichon,  Lafon,  A.  Hesse,  Drolling,  and  Guille- 
mont.  In  the  crypt,  used  as  a  chapel  for  catechizing,  are 
the  statues  of  Saint-Paul  and  Saint-John  Evangelist,  by 
Pradier. 

Although   there   are   no  remains  of  an  earlier  building, 


i86  PARIS 

there  was  a  parish  church  upon  the  same  site  as  Saint- 
Sulpice  as  early  as  the  Twelfth  Century ;  this  was  enlarged 
under  Louis  XII.  and  Francois  I. 

A  brass  slab  incrusted  in  the  pavement  of  the  south 
transept  indicates  the  meridian  in  a  direct  line  toward  the 
north — an  obelisk.  When  the  weather  is  fine,  the  midday 
sun  shines  through  a  little  opening  in  the  window  of  the 
south  transept,  and  strikes  the  middle  of  the  plaque  in 
summer,  and  the  top  of  the  obelisk  in  the  winter  solstice. 
This  meridian  was  established  in  1743  by  Henri  Sully  and 
Lemonnier,  to  fix  the  spring  equinox  and  Easter  Day. 


THE    IXVALIDES. 


LES  INVALIDES 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HJMERTON 

THE  dome  of  the  Pantheon  attracts  the  eye  simply 
by  its  own  architectural  beauty ;  but  that  of  the 
Invalides,  by  Mansard,  is  lustrous  with  abundant 
gilding,  and  on  a  sunny  day  shines  over  Paris  with  the  most 
brilliant  effect.  It  is  splendid  against  one  of  those  cerulean 
skies  that  are  still  possible  in  the  capital  of  France.  Cer- 
tainly nothing  does  so  much  for  the  splendour  of  a  great 
city  as  very  conspicuous  gilding.  There  are  drives  in 
Paris,  as,  for  instance,  from  the  Trocadero  to  the  Place  de 
la  Concorde,  during  which  the  dome  of  the  Invalides 
accompanies  you  like  a  harvest-moon.  On  a  nearer 
approach  it  is  the  architecture  that  claims  attention.  The 
dome  itself  is  fine,  but  in  many  respects  the  building  as  a 
whole  is  greatly  inferior  to  the  Pantheon.  Soufflot  made 
the  body  of  his  church  an  ample  base  for  his  dome  in 
every  direction ;  but  at  the  Invalides  one  receives  the 
impression  of  a  man  with  a  prodigious  head  on  a  small  body 
and  very  narrow  shoulders.  The  columns  of  the  dome  are 
in  couples,  with  projecting  masses  doing  the  work  of 
buttresses.  This  gives  more  light  and  shade  than  the 
simple  colonnade  of  the  Pantheon,  but  not  such  beautiful 
perspective,  as  the  projections  interfere  with  it.     The  com- 

187 


i88  PARIS 

position  of  the  front  makes  us  feel  strongly  the  special 
merits  of  the  Pantheon.  Instead  of  the  majestic  columns 
of  Soufflot's  work,  his  rich  pediment,  and  the  massive 
plain  walls  on  each  side  as  margin,  we  have  in  the  Invalides 
a  poor  little  pediment  reduced  to  still  more  complete  insig- 
nificance by  the  obtrusive  windows,  etc.,  on  each  side  of  it. 
Again,  the  front  of  the  Invalides  offers  an  example  of  that 
vice  in  Renaissance  architecture  which  SoufBot  avoided, — 
the  superposition  of  different  orders.  It  is  divided  into  two 
stories,  Roman  Doric  below  and  Corinthian  above,  a 
variety  that  the  Renaissance  architects  enjoyed,  though  it 
does  not  seem  more  desirable  than  two  languages  in  one 
poem. 

This  criticism  does  not  affect  either  the  beauty  of 
Mansard's  dome  as  a  fine  object  seen  from  a  distance,  or 
the  importance  of  the  interior,  one  of  the  most  im- 
pressive in  all  Paris,  especially  since  it  has  become  the 
mausoleum    of  Napoleon  I. 

A  lofty  dome,  supported  by  massive  piers  perforated  with 
narrow  arched  passages  and  faced  with  Corinthian  columns 
and  pilasters,  a  marble  floor  of  extraordinary  richness  and 
beauty  everywhere,  all  round  the  base  of  the  dome  a  stair 
of  six  marble  steps  descending  to  the  circular  space  under 
it,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  space  a  great  opening  or  well, 
with  a  diameter  of  more  than  seventy  feet,  and  a  marble 
parapet,  breast-high,  for  the  safety  of  the  visitors  who  look 
down  into  it, — such  is  the  first  impression  of  the  interior. 

Not  only  do  people  invariably  look  down,  but  they  gen- 


LES  INVALIDES  189 

erally  gaze  for  a  long  time,  as  if  they  expected  something 
to  occur;  yet  a  more  unchanging  spectacle  could  not  be 
imagined.  In  the  middle  there  is  a  great  sarcophagus  of 
polished  red  Russian  granite,  and  twelve  colossal  statues 
stand  under  the  parapet,  all  turning  their  grave,  impassible 
faces  toward  the  centre.  They  are  twelve  Victories  whose 
names  have  resounded  through  the  world,  and  in  the  spaces 
between  them  are  sheaves  of  standards  taken  in  battle,  and 
in  the  red  sarcophagus  lies  the  body  of  Napoleon. 

The  idea  of  this  arrangement  is  due  to  the  architect 
Visconti,  who  had  to  solve  the  problem  how  to  arrange  a 
tomb  of  such  overwhelming  importance  without  hiding  the 
architecture  of  so  noble  an  interior  as  this.  His  solution 
was  admirably  successful.  The  arrangement  does  not 
interfere  in  the  slightest  degree  with  the  architecture  of  the 
edifice,  which  would  have  been  half  hidden  by  a  colossal 
tomb  on  its  own  floor;  while  we  have  only  to  look  over  the 
parapet  to  be  impressed  with  the  grandeur  and  poetic 
suitableness  of  the  plan.  With  our  customs  of  burial  we 
are  all  in  the  habit  of  looking  down  into  a  grave  before  it  is 
filled  up,  and  the  impressiveness  of  Napoleon's  tomb  is 
greatly  enhanced  by  our  downward  gaze.  We  feel  that, 
notwithstanding  all  this  magnificence,  we  are  still  looking 
down  into  a  grave, — a  large  grave  with  a  sarcophagus  in  it 
instead  of  a  coffin,  but  a  grave  nevertheless.  The  serious 
grandeur,  the  stately  order  of  this  arrangement  seems  to 
close  appropriately  the  most  extraordinary  career  in  history  ; 
and  yet  it  is  impossible  to  look  upon  the  sarcophagus  with- 


iQo  PARIS 

out  the  most  discouraging  reflections.  The  most  splendid 
tomb  in  Europe  is  the  tomb  of  the  most  selfish,  the  most 
culpably  ambitious,  the  most  cynically  unscrupulous  of 
men  ;  and  the  sorrowful  reflection  is  that  if  he  had  been 
honourable,  unselfish,  unwilling  to  injure  others,  he  would 
have  died  in  comparative  or  total  obscurity,  and  these 
prodigious,  posthumous  honours  would  never  have  been 
bestowed  upon  his  memory. 


HOTEL  DES  INVALIDES 

V.  DE  SWARTE 

VARIOUS  kings,  notably  Charles  VII.,  Louis  XII., 
Francois  I.,  Henri  II.,  and  Charles  IX,,  had  the 
intention  to  found  a  final  shelter  for  old  invalid 
soldiers  ;  Louis  XL  was  the  first  to  grant  them  pensions. 
Henry  III.,  in  1575,  organized  a  house  for  them  called  the 
Christian  Charity  and  gave  them  the  pensions  of  lay 
monks. 

Henri  IV.  added  another  house  in  the  Rue  de  I'Oursine, 
in  1597,  ^'^'^  endowed  it  with  the  product  of  the  fines  and 
confiscations  arising  from  abuses  and  malversations.  This 
only  existed  until  1597,  when  the  houses  for  invalids  were 
suppressed  and  the  latter  were  again  sent  to  the  monasteries 
as  lay  monks.  In  1633,  Louis  XIII.  by  edict  founded 
the  Commandery  of  Saint-Louis,  the  works  of  which  were 
brusquely  interrupted  in  1635.  Louis  XIV.  took  up  this 
plan  again  and  completed  it.  The  edict  of  April,  1674, 
"  perpetual  and  irrevocable,"  runs  thus :  "  We  found 
.  the  said  Hotel  that  we  have  entitled  the  In- 
valides,  which  we  cause  to  be  built  at  the  end  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain  in  our  good  city  of  Paris,  for  the 
lodging,  subsistence  and  entertainment  of  all  the  poor  of- 
ficers and  soldiers  of  our  troops  who  have  been  or  are  dis- 
abled, or  who,  having  grown  old  in  service,  are  no  longer 

191 


192  PARIS 

able  to  do  anything."  For  the  endowment  of  the  house 
with  sufficient  and  assured  revenues,  the  king  gives  it  for- 
ever "  the  two  deniers  per  livre  of  all  payments  that  shall 
be  made  by  the  treasurers-general,  ordinary  and  extraor- 
dinary of  war;"  and  in  addition  "the  deniers  accruing 
from  the  pensions  and  the  places  of  the  lay  monks  of  abbeys 
and  priories  "  in  which  it  was  usual  and  obligatory  to  receive 
lay  monks.  The  religious  chapters  that  were  thus  taxed 
vainly  tried  to  resist :  they  had  too  often  complained  of  the 
gross  manners  and  of  the  conduct  of  the  lay  monks  to  be 
able  decently  to  resist  the  royal  will.  The  works,  more- 
over, had  been  begun  four  years  before. 

It  was  intended  to  shelter  6,000  invalids,  but  that  num- 
ber was  not  reached  and  the  buildings  barely  sufficed  for 
4,000  pensioners.  The  endowment  was  rich,  and  in  1789 
the  revenue  amounted  to  1,700,000  livres.  After  the  war 
of  the  Spanish  Succession,  space  failed  and  many  invalids 
were  outside  pensioners.  Abuses  multiplied ;  the  great 
lords  lodged  their  old  lackeys  at  the  Invalides,  even  those 
who  had  never  borne  arms,  to  the  detriment  of  real  invalids. 
The  Comte  de  Saint-Germain  fought  against  these  favours. 
The  Revolution  laid  the  expenses  of  the  institution  to  the 
State's  charge. 

The  considerable  number  of  wounded  and  infirm  that 
were  the  consequence  of  the  wars  of  the  Revolution  and 
the  Empire  forced  Napoleon  I.  to  create  branches  of  this 
establishment  at  Versailles,  Avignon,  and  Ghent.  In  18 12, 
the  invalids  numbered   26,000.     The  period  of  peace  that 


HOTEL  DES  INVALIDES  193 

followed  allowed  of  the  suppression  of  these  branches  suc- 
cessively and  the  preservation  for  the  invalids  only  of  the 
building  of  that  name,  which  now  is  not  even  entirely  oc- 
cupied by  them. 

The  organization  of  the  Hotel  is  entirely  military  ;  its 
command  is  entrusted  to  a  brigadier-general  seconded  by  a 
number  of  officers  in  proportion  to  the  effective  of  pensioners. 
This  personnel,  including  the  necessary  doctors,  is  com- 
posed exclusively  of  retired  officers.  The  Administration 
is  by  a  council  of  surveillance  whose  agents  are  taken  from 
the  active  army  ;  this  council  takes  constant  action  in  the 
management.  An  almoner,  hospital  sisters  and  several 
civil  employes  are  also  attached  to  the  Hotel.  In  a  word, 
every  precaution  is  taken  to  secure  to  the  invalids  all  the 
necessary  care  appropriate  to  their  condition  and  their  old 
rank.  For  admission,  before  all  it  is  necessary  to  have  re- 
tired on  a  pension  and  to  be  of  irreproachable  conduct  and 
morality.  The  other  conditions  are:  ist,  to  have  lost  the 
sight,  or  one  or  more  limbs,  or  to  be  afflicted  with  infirmi- 
ties equivalent  to  the  loss  of  a  limb ;  2d,  to  be  at  least 
sixty  years  of  age  ;  at  seventy,  admission  is  a  right.  Dur- 
ing their  abode  at  the  Hotel,  the  invalids,  in  addition  to 
their  food  and  clothing,  receive  a  payment  proportionate  to 
their  old  rank,  and  their  pension  is  suspended.  Each  in- 
mate may  renounce  the  privilege  of  his  admission  and  re- 
sume the  enjoyment  of  his  pension,  as  he  may  also  reenter 
the  Hotel  after  having  voluntarily  left  it.  The  invalids  are 
organized  in  divisions ;  the  military  service  is  performed  by 


194  PARIS 

them  exclusively.  The  number  of  invalids  entertained  at 
the  Hotel  depends  upon  the  annual  credit  allowed  by  the 
Chambers  for  that  purpose.  At  present  the  number  is 
greatly  restricted  on  account  of  the  absence  of  great  wars. 
Many  people  share  Montesquieu's  opinion :  "  The 
Hotel  des  Invalides  is  the  most  admirable  place  on  earth. 
If  I  had  been  a  prince,  I  would  rather  have  created  that  es- 
tablishment than  have  won  three  battles," 


THE  INSTITUTE 

ERNEST  RENJN 

THE  Institute  is  one  of  the  most  glorious  creations 
of  the  Revolution,  and  something  quite  peculiar 
to  France.  Many  countries  have  academies  that 
may  rival  our  own  in  the  illustriousness  of  their  members 
and  the  importance  of  their  works ;  France  alone  has  an 
Institute  where  all  the  efforts  of  the  human  mind  are  bound 
together  in  a  sheaf,  where  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  the 
historian,  the  philologist,  the  critic,  the  mathematician,  the 
physicist,  the  astronomer,  the  naturalist,  the  economist,  the 
lawyer  the  sculptor,  the  painter  and  the  musician  may  call 
themselves  brethren. 

Two  ideas  absorbed  the  minds  of  the  simple  and  great 
men  who  conceived  the  plan  of  this  entirely  novel  founda- 
tion :  the  first,  admirably  true,  was  that  all  the  productions 
of  the  human  mind  maintain  their  solidarity  by  one  an- 
other; the  other,  which  is  more  open  to  criticism  but  is 
still  great  and  in  any  case  proceeds  from  what  is  most  pro- 
found in  the  French  spirit,  is  that  the  sciences,  letters  and 
arts,  are  an  affair  of  the  State,  a  matter  that  every  nation 
produces  in  its  own  body  and  which  it  is  the  country's  duty 
to  provoke,  to  encourage  and  to  recompense.  The  last  day 
but  one  of  the  Convention  (October  25th,  1795),  appeared 

195 


196  PARIS 

the  law  that  was  destined  to  realize  this  idea  that  was  so 
full  of  future.  The  object  of  the  Institute  is  the  progress 
of  science,  general  utility,  and  the  glory  of  the  Republic. 
Every  year  it  renders  an  account  to  the  legislative  body  of 
the  progress  it  has  accomplished.  It  has  its  budget,  its  col- 
lections and  its  prizes.  It  has  missions  to  entrust,  and 
scientific  and  literary  establishments  to  patronize.  For  the 
formation  of  the  original  nucleus  of  its  members,  it  was 
decided  that  the  executive  Directoire  should  name  forty- 
eight  persons,  or  a  third  of  the  encumbents,  and  that  these 
should  nominate  the  other  two-thirds  by  ballot.  Three 
men  in  particular  helped  in  tracing  these  great  lines,  to 
which  the  Institute  must  return  whenever  it  wishes  to  re- 
new its  youth  J  these  were  Lakanal,  Daunou,  and  Carnot. 
Unfortunately  at  that  moment  France  was  in  the  condition 
of  a  sick  man  who  issues  exhausted  from  an  attack  of 
fever.  Entire  branches  of  human  culture  had  been  swept 
away.  The  moral,  political  and  philosophical  sciences  were 
profoundly  abased.  Literature  was  almost  null.  Historical 
and  philological  science  counted  only  two  eminent  men ; — 
Silvestre  de  Sacy  and  d'Ansse  de  Villoison.  In  revenge, 
the  physical  and  mathematical  sciences  were  in  one  of  the 
most  glorious  periods  of  their  development.  The  divisions 
of  the  Institute  into  classes  and  sections  felt  this  condition 
of  things.  The  classes  were  three  in  number.  The  first 
corresponded  exactly  to  the  present  Academie  des  Sciences  and 
presented  almost  the  same  sections  as  the  latter.  The 
second    was    called    the    class    of  the    moral  and  political 


THE    INSTITUTE  197 

sciences.  It  corresponded  to  the  Acad'emie  which  to-day 
bears  the  same  name  and  a  small  section  of  our  Acad'emie 
des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-Lettres.  The  third  class  was  called 
"  Litt'erature  et  Beaux- Arts''  It  embraced  what  we  now  call 
the  Academic  Fran^aise^  the  Academic  des  Beaux-Arts  and  the 
greatest  part  of  the  Acad'emie  des  Inscriptions.  The  great 
fault  of  this  division  was  in  not  admitting  the  existence  of 
the  historical  sciences.  To  tell  the  truth,  there  was  some 
excuse  for  those  who  were  responsible  for  it,  since  at  that 
time  those  sciences  scarcely  existed  in  France.  The  his- 
torical sciences  imply  ancient  traditions,  a  refined  and,  to  a 
certain  point,  an  aristocratic  society.  On  the  other  hand, 
philosophy  is  not  self-controlling  and  will  not  admit  of 
classification.  Something  in  the  nature  of  the  scholar  and 
smelling  of  the  pedagogue  presided  over  all  this  primitive 
distribution.  The  second  class  had  a  section  called : 
"  Analysis  of  Sensations  and  Ideas."  Six  persons  were 
always  occupied  in  this  difficult  labour.  The  third  class 
comprised  eight  sections  that  were  called  Grammar,  An- 
cient Languages,  Poetry,  Antiquities  and  Monuments, 
Painting,  Sculpture,  Architecture,  Music,  and  Declamation. 
This  primitive  organization  lasted  for  six  years.  Various 
regulations  successively  were  added  to  complete  it.  The 
law  of  April  4th,  1796,  regulated  the  mode  of  election; 
there  were  three  degrees.  The  sections  made  presentations 
to  the  classes,  the  latter  made  them  to  the  entire  Institute 
which  finally  voted  upon  them.  One  could  not  be  a  mem- 
ber of  several   classes   at   the  same   time.     The   right   of 


198  PARIS 

presentation  for  vacancies  in  all  the  great  Schools  of  the 
State  was  given  to  the  corresponding  classes.  Finally,  by 
this  same  law,  the  continuation  of  the  great  collections  be- 
gun under  the  regime  by  the  Acad'emie  des  Sciences  and  the 
Acad'emie  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-Lettres  devolved  upon 
the  Institute.  It  was  thought  that  in  a  society  where 
everything  had  been  rendered  individual  and  of  mere  life 
interest  out  of  hatred  for  the  ancient  populations,  the  In- 
stitute alone  possessed  sufficient  continuity  to  accept  the 
heritage  of  these  great  works ;  a  just  and  fruitful  idea,  for 
which  the  chief  honour  must  be  given  to  Camus. 

However,  the  First  Consul  regarded  with  an  unfriendly 
eye  a  free  body,  hmited  to  pure  speculation,  it  is  true,  but 
moving  without  limits  or  fetters  in  the  vast  field  of  matters 
of  the  mind.  Various  sensible  defects,  moreover,  had  mani- 
fested themselves  in  the  original  plan.  On  January  23d, 
1803,  a  new  organization,  inspired  by  Chaptal,  modified 
the  work  of  the  Convention.  The  First  Consul's  appro- 
bation was  necessary  for  every  election.  The  number  of 
classes  was  increased  to  four.  The  first  corresponded  to 
our  Acad'emie  des  Sciences ;  the  second  (French  language  and 
literature)  to  the  Academie  Franfaise ;  the  third  (Ancient 
history  and  literature)  to  our  Academie  des  Inscriptions; 
and  the  fourth  to  the  Academie  des  Beaux-Arts.  In  many 
respects,  this  division  was  preferable  to  that  of  1795. 
Under  a  still  sorry  form,  it  created  a  place  for  the  historical 
sciences.  It  destroyed  the  incongruous  agglomeration  of 
specialties   that   were    unconnected  with  each  other  which 


THE    INSTITUTE  199 

the  law  of  1795  had  established  under  the  name  of  the 
third  class.  In  the  class  of  French  language  and  literature, 
and  in  that  of  ancient  history  and  literature,  the  interior 
sections,  always  fatal  to  learned  bodies,  were  suppressed. 
The  creation  of  perpetual  secretaries  gave  more  continuity 
to  the  work.  The  continuation  of  the  diplomatic  collec- 
tions, a  legacy  from  the  old  regime  and  particularly  from  the 
learned  Congregation  de  Saint-Maur,  devolved  upon  the 
third  class.  But  in  other  respects,  the  general  spirit  of  this 
new  organization  was  very  narrow.  The  political  and 
moral  sciences  were  separated  from  the  labours  of  the  In- 
stitute. The  first  class  only  had  the  right  to  occupy  itself 
with  the  sciences  "  In  their  relations  with  history."  We 
feel  the  systematic  intention  of  discrowning  the  human 
mind  and  reducing  literature  to  puerile  rhetorical  exercises. 

The  physical  and  mathematical  sciences  preserved  the 
superiority  that  was  assured  to  them  by  such  men  as  La- 
place, Lagrange,  Monge,  and  Berthollet.  But  the  literary 
and  philosophic  nullity  became  deplorable ;  while  the  his- 
torical sciences  on  their  side  developed  in  a  laborious  man- 
ner. That  was  the  fault  of  the  times  rather  than  that  of 
the  government.  The  latter  took  the  initiative  in  various 
useful  foundations.  The  continuation  of  the  Histoire 
litteraire  de  la  France^  a  precious  collection  begun  by  the 
Benedictines,  was  decreed  in  1807  on  the  proposal  of  M. 
de  Champagny. 

The  organization  of  the  Institute,  inaugurated  in  1803, 
lasted  until  18 16.     On  the  2ist  of  March  in  that  year,  an 


200  PARIS 

ordinance  of  King  Louis  XVIII.  struck  the  Institute  of 
the  Convention  a  much  graver  blow  than  that  of  1803. 
Being  a  Revolutionary  foundation,  the  Institute  was  dis- 
pleasing to  the  exalted  men  of  the  time.  For  a  moment 
there  was  some  thought  of  suppressing  it  and  reestablishing 
the  Academies  of  the  old  regime.  The  party  of  concilia- 
tion prevailed.  "  The  protection  that  the  Kings  our  an- 
cestors have  constantly  granted  to  science  and  letters  has 
always  made  us  consider  with  particular  interest  the  various 
establishments  that  they  founded  to  honour  those  who  cul- 
tivated them.  Therefore  we  have  not  been  able  without 
sorrow  to  look  upon  the  fall  of  those  Academies  that  so 
powerfully  contributed  to  the  prosperity  of  letters  and  the 
foundation  of  which  was  a  title  of  glory  for  our  august 
predecessors.  Since  the  time  when  they  were  reestablished 
under  a  new  denomination,  we  have  seen  with  a  lively 
satisfaction  the  consideration  and  renown  that  the  Institute 
has  earned  in  Europe.  Immediately  Divine  Providence 
recalled  us  to  the  throne  of  our  fathers,  our  intention  was 
to  maintain  and  protect  this  learned  company ;  but  we 
have  thought  it  proper  to  restore  its  primitive  name  to  each 
of  the  classes  in  order  to  bind  their  past  glory  to  that  which 
they  have  acquired,  and  to  remind  them  at  the  same  time 
of  what  they  succeeded  in  doing  during  difficult  times  and 
what  we  should  expect  of  them  in  happier  days." 

That  is  very  fine  language  and  seems  to  carry  us  very 
far  from  the  paltry  work  of  Chaptal  and  the  First  Consul. 
Unhappily,  Louis  XVIII. 's  government  belied  its  apparent 


THE    INSTITUTE  201 

moderation,  and  under  the  pretext  of  reconstituting  the 
Institute  did  it  the  greatest  violence  it  had  ever  suffered. 
Until  that  time  there  had  never  been  but  one  cancellation 
of  a  member  of  the  Institute,  that  of  Carnot,  pronounced 
with  deplorable  levity  after  the  Seventeenth  Fructidor  and 
soon  repaired.  When  the  First  Consul  had  suppressed  the 
class  of  political  and  moral  sciences  he  had  not  deprived 
anybody  of  the  title  of  Member  of  the  Institute.  All 
those  who  enjoyed  that  title  in  1803  were  distributed 
among  the  new  classes  established  at  that  period.  It  was 
not  so  in  i8i6.  Twenty-two  persons,  among  whom  were 
the  painter  David,  the  bishop  Gregoire,  Monge,  Carnot, 
Lakanal,  and  Caesieyes,  were  deprived  of  the  title  that  they 
honoured  by  their  character  or  their  works.  This  measure 
of  vengeance  and  iniquity  was  instigated  by  the  Comte  de 
Vaublanc.  In  revenge,  seventeen  persons,  by  royal  ordi- 
nance, received  a  title  which  has  its  full  value  only  when  it 
is  given  to  a  man  of  letters,  or  a  savant,  by  the  free  suffrage 
of  his  peers.  That  was  a  sad  beginning.  It  was  not  belied 
by  what  followed.  The  brilliant  literary  splendour  of  the 
time  of  the  Restoration  and  the  mighty  awakening  of  those 
minds  that  made  of  this  epoch  the  commencement  of  a  new 
intellectual  era  for  France  should  not  make  us  forget  the 
condition  of  inferiority  in  which  science  was  kept  under 
Louis  XVIII.  and  Charles  X.  A  kind  of  puerility  in  par- 
ticular struck  the  Academie  that  represented  historical 
studies.  The  title  of  gentilhornme  de  la  chamhre  gained 
admission  for  a  man  among  the  erudite.     It  was  not  that 


202  PARIS 

the  organization  was  bad.  In  reality,  scarcely  anything 
had  been  done  but  changing  the  name  of  two  Academies, 
The  class  of  French  language  and  literature  had  become 
the  Acad'emie  Fran^ahe ;  the  class  of  ancient  history  and 
literature  had  resumed  the  name,  that  was  understood  by 
very  few  people,  of  Acad'emie  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles- 
Letters. 

The  Academies  had  their  individual  regulations  and  were 
more  distinct.  The  great  unity  of  the  Institute,  according 
to  the  dream  of  the  Convention,  had  been  broken  since 
1803;  perhaps  it  was  an  impossible  conception.  But  the 
expulsions  of  18 16  cannot  be  pardoned.  In  the  breast  of 
several  of  the  Academies,  especially  the  Academic  des  In- 
scriptions et  Belles-Lettres^  the  political  and  religious 
prejudices  of  the  day,  moreover,  reigned  with  great  intol- 
erance. Precious  qualities  of  the  mind  were  employed  in 
intrigues.  The  most  ridiculously  incompetent  influences 
were  exercised  to  the  knowledge  of  all.  The  Due  de 
Berry  and  the  Due  d'Angouleme  had  their  candidates. 
The  institution  of  free  members  created  the  germ  of  great 
difficulties  for  the  future.  The  interest  of  serious  studies 
was  the  smallest  care  of  academicians  who  were  men  of 
the  world  and  who  saw  in  their  nomination  especially  the 
privilege  of  wearing  a  sword  and  an  embroidered  coat. 

The  revolution  of  1830  brought  better  days.  Certainly 
if  literary  vengeance  was  ever  committed  it  was  after  the 
Journees  de  juillet.  The  legitimist  party  had  enormously 
abused  its  powers.     It  had  shown  itself  haughty,  narrow, 


THE    INSTITUTE  203 

and  malevolent.  Although  vanquished  in  public  it  re- 
mained in  the  majority  in  almost  all  the  Academies.  With 
very  good  reason  the  government  of  King  Louis  Philippe 
relied  on  time  and  on  its  own  intention  of  vi^ell  directing 
matters  of  the  mind  for  conquering  these  survivors  of  a 
fallen  regime. 

It  neither  took  away  from  nor  conferred  on  anybody  the 
title  of  Member  of  the  Institute.  But,  careful  to  attach 
men  of  merit  to  itself  and  skillful  in  its  treatment  of  lit- 
erary and  scientific  affairs,  in  the  various  Academies  it  had 
soon  by  legitimate  means  conquered  the  influence  that  it 
would  have  vainly  demanded  by  cancellations  or  intru- 
sions. 

From  1830  to  1848  the  Institute  did  nothing  but  in- 
crease. The  Academies  of  sciences,  drawn  by  M.  Arago 
into  the  ways  of  a  perhaps  exaggerated  publicity,  ac- 
quired an  unusual  importance.  If,  thereafter,  journalism 
took  up  too  much  space,  if  that  learned  company  chanced 
occasionally  to  gather  together  a  Chamber  of  Deputies 
rather  than  an  Academy,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  it 
was  by  that  means  that  it  became  the  scientific  centre 
of  Europe.  The  Acad'emie  des  Inscriptions  made  much 
more  undeniable  progress.  Eugene  Burnouf  and  Letronne 
rivalled  the  most  exact  savants  of  Germany  in  method  and 
sagacity.  Augustin  Thierry  developed  in  his  accomplished 
works  his  profound  manner  of  understanding  history.  In 
the  hands  of  Daunou,  Fauriel,  and  especially  that  too  true 
Benedictine  of  our  century,  M.  Victor  Le  Clerc,  the  works 


204  PARIS 

of  the  Academic  were  conducted  with  a  care  and  activity 
unknown  until  then. 

The  government  of  1848  continued  the  traditions  of 
1830  toward  the  Institute.  A  few  unimportant  changes 
were  introduced.  The  gravity  of  the  social  problems  that 
were  being  agitated  gave  a  certain  importance  to  the 
Academy  of  moral  and  political  science.  We  saw  the 
worthy  General  Cavaignac  in  his  simple  conception  of 
human  affairs  addressing  himself  to  that  Academie  in  order 
to  obtain  from  it  treatises  to  combat  socialistic  errors.  Cer- 
tainly those  little  books,  which  have  since  been  collected  in 
one  large  volume,  had  not  a  single  reader  among  those 
whom  they  were  to  convert.  Thus  was  compromised  the 
dignity  of  free  knowledge  which  does  not  think  of  those 
applications,  in  struggles  of  another  order,  that  are  better 
pleased  with  expedients  than  with  philosophy. 

The  reactions  that  followed  brought  the  Institute  back  to 
its  peaceful  labours.  Perhaps  internal  activity  was  never 
greater  than  since  1852.  Certain  dangers  that  for  a  mo- 
ment threatened  its  dignity  and  independence  were  skill- 
fully conjured.  Not  so  happily  inspired  as  were  the  min- 
isters of  1830  and  1848,  M.  Fortoul  tried  to  lay  some  re- 
strictions on  the  liberties  of  the  Institute.  As  soon  as  the 
consequences  of  these  measures  were  pointed  out  to  the 
Emperor,  things  were  restored  to  their  old  condition.  From 
this  unfortunate  attempt  there  only  remained  a  new  sec- 
tion added  to  the  Academy  of  moral  sciences,  a  section  of 
which    the    need    was    not    very    apparent    since    it    was 


THE    INSTITUTE  205 

later  merged  in  the  other  sections  with  the  consent  of  the 
members.  (Decree  of  May  9th,  1866.)  Ten  members 
were  nominated  by  decree  to  fill  the  new  places,  which  had 
not  been  known  since  the  worst  days  of  the  Restoration. 

Such  as  it  is,  the  Institute  is  one  of  the  essential  elements 
of  intellectual  work  in  France.  The  intellectual  regi?ne  of 
France  could  never  be  that  of  England,  much  less  that  of 
America  or  Germany. 

Our  centralization  does  not  allow  of  those  numerous  and 
powerful  universities,  which  are  academies  and  teaching 
bodies  at  the  same  time  and  from  which  the  genius  of  Ger- 
many has  drawn  its  greatest  force.  With  us,  science  and 
teaching  are  different  things,  frequently  even  jealous  and 
hostile.  The  regime  of  pure  intellectual  liberty  of  England 
and  America  would  suit  us  even  less.  Besides  creating  for 
the  country  in  which  it  is  in  operation  a  veritable  inferiority 
in  criticism,  this  regime  has  the  drawback  of  offering  too 
many  facilities  to  charlatanism  and  foolishness.  There  is 
a  true  science  and  therefore  it  is  necessary  that  there  should 
be  scientifical  authority.  It  is  in  Germany  that  this  authority 
exists  in  the  highest  degree ;  there,  charlatanism  and  ab- 
surdity are  infallibly  arrested  at  the  first  step.  Among 
us,  sufficiently  serious  mystifications  may  arise  and  succeed. 
The  voice  of  serious  science  is  sometimes  very  feeble 
against  audacity  and  imposture.  But  the  voice  of  science 
exists,  and  when  the  clamours  in  fashion  have  ceased,  this 
voice  continues  to  make  itself  heard  and  then  nothing  else 
is  heard.     That   is   the   reason,  in   spite  of  the  perpetual 


2o6  PARIS 

complaints  of  low  opinion  against  the  scientifical  academies, 
why  these  academies  always  prevail  in  the  end,  because 
they  are  the  guardians  of  the  true  method.  They  exist  for 
a  small  number,  but  this  small  number  is  right,  and  it  is 
only  right  that  endures. 


CHAMP  DE  MARS 

G.  LE NOTRE 

I  DO  not  think  that  in  all  the  world  there  is  a  corner, 
even  if  it  conceals  gold  or  diamonds,  that  has  been 
more  moved,  dug  and  trenched  than  the  vast  plain 
that  stretches  between  the  Ecole  Militaire  and  the  Seine 
and  which  since  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  has  been  called  the 
Champ  de  Mars.  At  a  moment  when  it  is  passing  through 
one  of  these  decennial  crises  of  its  existence  devoted  to 
earthworks  and  slop-made  palaces,  it  is  curious  to  show  it 
as  it  was  originally,  and  an  engraving  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  is  an  interesting  contrast  to  the  present  photo- 
graphs of  this  busy  point  of  Paris. 

Before  the  time  of  I'ficole  Militaire,  the  Champ  de  Mars 
was  nothing  but  a  warren  belonging  to  the  abbey  of  Saint- 
Germain  des  Pres  and  by  corruption  it  gave  its  name  to  the 
whole  surrounding  plain  :  from  Garenne  came  Garnelle  and 
then    Crenelle. 

Do  you  remember  having  read  in  the  history  of  France 
the  name  of  Eudes,  Count  of  Paris,  who  conquered  the 
Normans  who  had  come  to  seize  the  city  ?  Well,  it  was 
on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  on  the  very  spot  where  the  Eiffel 
Tower  stands  to-day  that  the  battle  took  place  :  a  portion 
of  land,  leased  to  market-gardeners,  preserved  the  name  of 
Champ  de  la  Victoire  until  1770.      Certainly,  if  the  brave 

207 


2o8  PARIS 

Eudes  could  see  the  scene  of  his  exploits  to-day,  he  would 
find  it  somewhat  modified. 

The  engraving,  which  dates  from  about  1760,  is  no  less 
curious  for  the  aspects  of  peaceful  and  almost  desert  country 
that  it  affords :  Grenelle  consists  of  a  little  chateau  sur- 
rounded by  farms  ;  the  whole  quarter  between  the  Invalides 
and  the  Champ  de  Mars  is  en  inarals^  or  under  cultivation. 
In  the  background  winds  the  Seine  between  islands  that  to- 
day have  disappeared ;  the  He  Macquerelle, — that  in  more 
elegant  language  was  called  the  He  des  Mats  et  des 
Querelles. — Would  not  that  be  the  origin  of  the  name  ? — 
where  had  been  interred  the  victims  of  the  massacre  of  Saint 
Bartholomew,  some  of  whose  bones  were  found  in  1889, 
whilst  digging  the  foundations  of  the  Eiffel  Tower.  It  was 
in  this  isle  that  the  Triperie  was  to  be  found  ;  a  document 
of  1780  states  that  there  were  washed  "the  intestines  and 
tripe  brought  from  the  slaughter-houses  and  that  there  also 
was  made  the  oil  of  tripe  that  was  used  for  the  reverberes 
or  city-lanterns." 

Next  came  the  He  aux  Treilles,  the  He  de  Jerusalem,  the 
He  de  Challyau  (Chaillot),  also  called  He  aux  Vaches,  and 
lastly  the  He  de  Longchamp,  which  all  formed  the  archi- 
pelago of  the  He  aux  Cygnes  which  itself  was  soon  united 
with  the  mainland. 

At  the  epoch  of  the  Revolution,  one  could  almost  reach 
it  at  various  places  without  wetting  one's  feet :  to-day  it 
forms  the  Quai  d'Orsay. 

The  horizon  of  the  Champ  de  Mars  was  shut  in  by  the 


CHAMP  DE  MARS  209 

hills  of  Chaillot,  and  the  old  engraving  shows  the  village  of 
that  name  with  its  two  convents  of  Bonshommes  and  the 
Visitation,  which  had  been  founded  by  Henriette  de  France 
and  in  which  Mile,  de  La  Valliere  spent  part  of  the  time  of 
her  retreat.  It  was  on  the  heights  of  Chaillot,  on  the  very 
spot  where  the  Palais  du  Trocadero  stands  to-day,  that 
Napoleon  laid  the  foundations  of  the  Palace  of  the  king  of 
Rome.  It  was  to  be  the  most  enormous  and  extraordinary 
monument  in  Paris.  From  the  first  floor  of  the  edifice 
which  was  to  have  been  raised  upon  three  tiers,  basements 
on  the  side  of  the  Seine,  the  beautiful  view  of  the  Champ 
de  Mars  and  its  surrounding  avenues  would  have  been 
visible.  To  the  east,  close  to  the  river,  were  to  have  been 
situated  the  State  Archives,  the  Palais  des  arts,  the  Univer- 
site,  the  Palais  of  the  Grand  Master,  the  dwellings  of  the 
emeritus  professors,  savants,  and  celebrated  men,  who 
should  have  merited  national  gratitude  by  important  services 
or  by  their  talents  ;  to  the  west,  was  to  have  been  a  cavalry 
barracks  and  storehouses  to  serve  as  depots  for  salt,  tobacco 
and  other  merchandise  subject  to  the  octroi.  The  entirety 
of  the  project  of  this  singular  Palais  included  in  addition  a 
military  hospital,  an  infantry  barracks,  a  slaughterhouse, 
houses  of  retreat  and  other  monuments  of  public  utility. 
The  park  of  this  eccentric  residence  would  have  been  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  connected  with  the  Champ  de  Mars  by 
broad  avenues  of  big  trees. 

But  all  that  was  only  a  dream  that  was  dissipated  by  the 
tempest  of  Waterloo. 


210  PARIS 

Let  us  return  to  the  Champ  de  Mars  to  which  we  are 
called  by  various  memories  of  public  festivals.  The  most 
important  and  the  most  celebrated  of  all  is  that  of  the  fam- 
ous Federation  of  July  14th,  1790.  This  was  perhaps  the 
first  festival  which  was  at  once  political  and  popular ;  until 
that  time  the  people  had  only  been  admitted  to  rejoicings. 
On  that  day  Paris  desired  to  receive  France  in  the  Champ 
de  Mars  as  to-day  it  receives  the  whole  world  there. 

The  works  to  be  accomplished  were  considerable :  the 
plain  had  to  be  dug  and  a  sloped  embankment  made  all 
around  it;  a  vast  amphitheatre  constructed  and  a  bridge 
thrown  across  the  river  : — and  there  were  only  three  weeks 
in  which  to  accomplish  these  prodigies.  When  the  rumour 
spread  that  the  Champ  de  Mars  would  not  be  ready,  the 
entire  population  of  Paris  transformed  itself  into  labourers ; 
and  men  and  women,  fashionables  as  well  as  poor  devils, 
came  armed  with  picks  and  shovels,  the  corporations,  the 
national  guards,  the  wardens  of  city  companies,  the  invalids, 
the  religious  communities  of  both  sexes,  the  Swiss  Guards, 
the  colleges,  the  sixty  districts,  the  crafts,  the  pupils  of  the 
Academies,  generally  preceded  by  banners  and  groups  of 
young  girls,  might  all  be  seen  arriving  in  long  lines.  The 
work  was  retarded  by  eight  days,  for  nobody  knew  which 
way  to  turn,  and  people  preferred  to  spend  the  time  in 
fraternizing  glass  in  hand  rather  than  in  turning  over  the 
earth  ;  nevertheless  by  miracle  everything,  if  not  ended,  was 
at  least  redeemed  in  time,  and  the  festival  was  able  to  be 
held  on  the  day  fixed, — under  a  driving  and  continuous  rain 


CHAMP  DE  MARS  211 

that  somewhat  cooled  the  enthusiasm.    How  many  other 
fetes  there  have  been  since  that  time  ! 

In  1792,  the  y?/^  of  Liberty;  in  1793,  the  y?/^  for  the 
Abolition  of  Slavery  ;  in  1794,  t}i\^  fete  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing; in  1798,  the  funeral  y?/^  for  the  death  of  Hoche  ;  then 
fetes  for  the  children  of  the  fatherland,  for  the  anniversaries 
of  the  Republic,  for  the  consecration  of  the  Emperor, 
National,  Napoleonic,  and  Bourbon  fetes^  distributions  of 
tricolour  flags,  eagles,  white  flags  and  oaths  to  how  many 
constitutions  !     Our  history  has  passed  there. 


SUNRISE  AND  SUNSET  FROM  THE  TROC- 
ADERO 

iMILE  ZOLA 

ON  this  morning  Paris  assumed  a  smiling  laziness  in 
awaking.  A  mist  that  followed  the  valley  of 
the  Seine  had  obscured  the  two  banks.  It  was 
a  light,  almost  milky  vapour  that  the  sun,  growing  grad- 
ually stronger,  illuminated.  Nothing  of  the  city  could  be 
distinguished  beneath  that  floating  muslin,  the  hue  of  the 
dawn.  In  the  hollows,  the  thick  cloud  deepened  into  a 
bluish  tint,  while  upon  the  broad  spaces,  transparencies 
were  made  of  golden  dust  through  which  one  divined  the 
background  of  the  streets ;  and,  much  higher,  the  domes 
and  spires  pierced  the  fog,  with  thin  grey  silhouettes  still 
wrapped  in  the  fragments  of  the  fog  which  they  penetrated. 
Every  now  and  then  streamers  of  yellow  smoke  detached 
themselves  as  if  by  the  heavy  flap  of  some  gigantic  bird's 
wing,  and  then  melted  into  the  air  that  seemed  to  swallow 
them.  And,  above  this  immensity  and  this  cloud  descend- 
ing and  sleeping  over  Paris,  a  very  pure  sky,  of  a  pale  blue, 
almost  white,  stretched  its  deep  vault.  The  sun  rose  in  a 
dust  softened  by  the  rays.  A  light  cloud,  of  the  vague 
paleness  of  infancy,  broke  into  rain,  filling  the  space 
with  its  tepid  quivering.  It  was  a  feast,  the  sovereign 
peace  and  tender  gaiety  of  the   infinite,  during  which  the 


I 


SUNRISE  AND  SUNSET  213 

city,  shot  through  with  golden  arrows,  lazy  and  drowsy, 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  show  herself  beneath  her 
lace.     ... 

At  the  horizon  long  tremours  ran  over  this  sleeping  lake. 
Then  suddenly  the  lake  appeared  to  burst ;  slits  appeared, 
and  from  one  end  to  the  other,  there  was  a  crack  that  an- 
nounced the  breaking  up.  The  sun,  now  higher,  in  the 
triumphant  glory  of  its  rays,  attacked  the  fog  victoriously. 
Little  by  little  the  large  lake  seemed  to  dry  up,  as  if  some 
invisible  drain  had  emptied  its  contents.  The  mists,  so 
deep  a  little  while  ago,  became  thinner  and  transparent,  as- 
suming the  bright  colours  of  the  rainbow.  All  the  left 
bank  was  of  a  tender  blue,  slowly  deepening  into  nearly 
violet,  on  the  side  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  On  the 
right  bank,  the  quartier  des  Tuileries  had  the  pale  rose  of 
flesh-coloured  cloth,  while  toward  Montmartre,  it  was  like 
the  glow  from  burning  coals,  carmine  flaming  into  gold ; 
then,  very  far  away,  the  manufacturing  faubourgs  deepened 
into  a  tone  of  brick-red,  gradually  becoming  duller  and 
passing  into  the  bluish-grey  of  slate.  One  could  not  yet 
distinguish  the  city,  trembling  and  evasive,  like  one  of 
those  submarine  depths  that  the  eye  divines  through  the 
clear  waters,  with  their  terrifying  forests  of  tall  grass,  their 
swirls  of  horror,  and  their  dimly-seen  monsters.  How- 
ever, the  waters  continued  to  abate.  They  were  now 
nothing  more  than  fine  spread  out  muslin  ;  and  one  by  one 
these  gossamers  disappeared  and  Paris  became  clearer  and 
rose  from  its  dream. 


214  PARIS 

Not  a  breath  of  air  had  passed,  it  was  like  an  evocation. 
The  last  piece  of  gauze  detached  itself,  ascended,  and 
melted  into  air.  And  the  city  lay  without  a  cloud  beneath 
the  vanquishing  sun. 

The  sun,  sinking  toward  the  slopes  of  Meudon,  came 
to  scatter  the  last  images  and  to  glow  resplendent.  A  glory 
flamed  through  the  azure.  On  the  distant  horizon,  the 
slopes  of  the  chalky  rocks  that  barred  the  remote  Charen- 
ton  and  Choisy-le-Roi  were  piled  with  blocks  of  carmine 
edged  with  bright  lake ;  the  flotilla  of  little  clouds  floated 
slowly  in  the  blue  above  Paris,  and  covered  it  with  veils  of 
purple ;  while  the  thin  network,  the  mesh  of  white  silk, 
that  stretched  above  Montmartre,  suddenly  appeared  to  be 
made  of  golden  gauze,  whose  regular  spaces  were  ready  to 
catch  the  stars  as  they  rose.  And  beneath  this  glowing 
arch,  the  city  spread  out  all  yellow  and  streaked  with  long 
shadows.  Below,  the  cabs  and  omnibuses  crossed  along  the 
avenues,  in  the  midst  of  an  orange  dust,  through  the  crowd 
of  pedestrians  whose  swarming  blackness  was  yellowed 
and  illuminated  by  drops  of  light.  A  seminary,  in  close 
file,  which  followed  the  Quay  de  Billy,  made  a  tail  of 
ochre-coloured  soutanes  in  the  diffused  light.  Then,  car- 
riages and  foot-passengers  disappeared ;  in  the  distance  one 
could  only  distinguish  far  away,  on  some  bridge,  a  file  of 
equipages  with  glittering  lamps.  To  the  left,  the  high 
chimneys  of  the  Manutention,  erect  and  rosy,  disgorged 
huge  wreaths  of  soft  smoke,  as  delicate  in  tint  as  flesh; 
while  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  the  beautiful  elms  of 


SUNRISE  AND  SUNSET  215 

the  Quay  d'Orsay  made  a  sombre  mass,  perforated  with 
sunlight.  The  Seine,  between  its  banks  where  the  oblique 
rays  fell,  rolled  its  dancing  waves  where  blue,  yellow,  and 
green  broke  in  variegated  spray  ;  but  higher  up  the  river 
this  painting  of  an  oriental  sea  assumed  a  gold  tone  more 
and  more  dazzling,  and  one  might  have  called  it  an  ingot 
taken  from  some  invisible  crucible  at  the  horizon,  enlarg- 
ing itself  with  a  play  of  bright  colours  in  proportion  as  it 
cooled.  Against  this  brilliant,  flowing  water,  the  arches 
of  the  ladder-like  bridges  looked  slenderer  than  ever  and 
cast  grey  bars  which  were  merged  among  the  fiery  heap  of 
houses,  above  which  the  two  towers  of  Notre-Dame  flamed 
like  torches.  To  right  and  left  the  buildings  flamed.  The 
windows  of  the  Palais  d'Industrie,  in  the  midst  of  the 
groves  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  glowed  like  a  bed  of  burning 
coals;  farther  away,  behind  the  flattened  roof  of  the 
Madeleine,  the  enormous  mass  of  the  Opera  seemed  a 
block  of  copper ;  and  the  other  edifices,  the  cupolas  and 
towers,  the  Colonne  Vendome,  Saint-Vincent-de-Paul,  the 
Tour  Saint-Jacques,  and  nearer  the  pavilions  of  the  new 
Louvre  and  the  Tuileries,  crowned  with  flames  and  erect- 
ing at  each  crossway  a  gigantic  pyre.  The  dome  of  the 
Invalides  was  on  fire,  so  glowing  that  one  might  expect  to 
see  it  break  open  at  any  minute  and  cover  the  whole  quar- 
ter with  sparks  from  its  timber-work.  Beyond  the  unequal 
towers  of  Saint-Sulpice,  the  Pantheon  was  outlined  on  the 
sky  with  a  heavy  splendour  like  a  royal  palace  of  fire  which 
was   being  consumed  in  a  furnace.     Then  as  the  sun  sank 


2i6  PARIS 

the  whole  of  Paris  illuminated  itself  with  the  pyres  of  its 
buildings.  Lights  ran  along  the  crests  of  the  roofs,  while 
in  the  valleys  the  black  smoke  slept.  All  the  facades  fac- 
ing the  Trocadero  reddened  as  they  threw  out  from  their 
glittering  windows  a  shower  of  sparks  that  rose  from  the 
city  as  if  some  bellows  ceaslessly  kept  this  colossal  forge 
in  activity.  Sheaves  of  flame  constantly  burst  from  the 
neighbouring  quarters,  where  the  streets  were  hollowed 
out,  dark  and  burnt.  Even  in  the  distances  of  the  plain 
in  the  depths  of  the  red  ashes  that  buried  the  faubourgs, 
destroyed  but  still  warm,  gleamed  the  lost  sparks  leaping 
from  some  suddenly-revived  hearth.  Soon  it  became  a 
furnace.  Paris  was  burning.  The  sky  grew  more  and 
more  purple,  the  clouds  rolled  with  red  and  gold  above  the 
immense  city. 


The  Right  Bank 


<IGHT    RANK:     FROM    B]-:KCY    ']()    H(')1KL-I  )K-VILLP:. 


LA  VILLE 

THEODORE  DE  BAN  VILLE 

WHEN,  having  become  a  figure  of  bronze  or 
marble  for  eternity,  raised  upon  his  pedestal 
in  the  centre  of  a  public  square,  Balzac  shall 
behold  his  Paris,  which  is  our  Paris,  he  will  see  it  as  he  has 
evoked  and  glorified  it,  that  is  to  say  as  it  is. 

One  of  the  greatest  merits  of  the  creator  of  La  com'edie 
humaine  consists  in  this,  that  he,  better  than  any  one  in  the 
world,  has  understood  Paris's  manner  of  being  absolutely 
ideal  and  supernatural.  In  fact,  this  prodigious  city  is  not 
in  the  least  governed  by  the  physical  and  material  laws  that 
rule  other  cities.  Thus  the  inhabitants  of  Melun  or  Long- 
jumeau  could  no  more  form  an  exact  idea  of  themselves 
than  could  the  Esquimaux  or  the  Kaffirs. 

The  essential  and  permanent  phenomenon  of  Paris  is 
that  ideas  are  drunk  in  with  the  air  that  is  breathed.  There, 
it  is  not  only  the  great  lords  who  know  everything  without 
having  learned  anything,  it  is  the  whole  mass  of  human  be- 
ings, and  none  of  them  are  ignorant,  not  even  those  who 
have  learned  many  things.  Souls  and  minds  mingle  and 
penetrate  each  other,  and  everybody  is  acquainted  with 
everything.  If  it  pleases  Joseph  Bertrand  or  Renan  to  talk 
mathematics  or  exegesis  with  the  passing  Gavroche,  they 
will  find  him  perfectly  well-informed.     And  supposing  the 

219 


220  PARIS 

same  young  blackguard  comes  across  some  elegant  lady  be- 
ing tracked  by  a  husband,  or  a  jealous  lover,  or  ignoble 
Tricoches,  and  driven  to  bay  like  a  hind  in  the  woods,  she 
will  only  have  to  cast  him  a  glance  and  Gavroche  will  very 
soon  have  found  some  ruse  of  an  extraordinary  Scapin  or  a 
superior  Mascarille  to  save  her  and  get  her  out  of  her  em- 
barrassment. After  which,  without  awaiting  or  desiring 
any  thanks,  without  pride  and  without  humility,  he  will 
depart  to  eat  a  sous  worth  of  fried  potatoes,  if  he  is  in 
funds. 

What  wealth,  what  pleasure,  what  ephemeral  possession 
would  be  worth  the  immeasurable  quantity  of  genius  that  is 
spent  among  us  every  moment  ?  Assuredly  none.  Thus 
the  great  Parisians  do  not  possess  anything,  are  not  worth 
anything,  and  personally  are  as  disinterested  as  monks  in  a 
monastery  in  Asia.  What  they  desire  and  what  they  gain 
is  the  glory  of  constituting  the  city  that  serves  as  an  ex- 
ample and  as  a  light  for  the  world.  It  is  to  be  Paris^  and 
that  they  are.  De  Marasy  and  Rastignac  do  not,  and  have 
not  the  time  to,  amuse  themselves.  They  only  care  to 
carry  along  and  dominate  the  intellect.  Gobseck,  Wer- 
brust,  Palma  and  Gigonnet  not  only  care  nothing  for  what 
can  be  bought  with  gold,  and  each  of  them  could  live  on 
thirteen  sous  a  day  and  save  money  in  addition,  but  they  do 
not  love  gold  itself  and  merely  cherish  the  unlimited  power 
it  represents.  What  they  all  propose  to  themselves  is,  like 
Pistheterous  at  the  end  of  the  comedy  of  the  Birds,  to  es- 
pouse the  goddess  Sovereignty.    And  in  spite  of  the  Naquet 


LA  VILLE  221 

law,  when  once  this  great  marriage  is  accomplished,  there 
is  no  danger  that  they  will  get  divorced. 

They  are  all  quite  willing  to  die  and  even  to  live  for 
their  country,  to  give  it  first  and  always  their  blood,  and 
then  their  gold,  their  genius,  their  intellect,  and  their  inex- 
haustible treasures  of  invention  in  addition;  but,  contrary 
to  what  is  supposed  by  certain  inhabitants  of  distant  or 
even  neighbouring  countries,  politics  does  not  exist  in  Paris. 
Between  two  true  Parisians  not  a  single  word  dealing  with 
politics  is  ever  pronounced  ;  and  whosoever  should  infringe 
this  elementary  rule,  dictated  by  good  education,  would 
thereby  be  guilty  of  a  great  indecency. 

Who  of  us  would  have  the  extreme  puerility  to  care 
whether  the  squirrel  makes  ten  revolutions  in  his  cage  or 
only  eight  ?  And  what  would  political  agitation  serve  in  a 
country  that  has  succeeded  in  conquering  true  Equality  ? 
Yes,  Paris  possesses  and  enjoys  this  treasure  superior  to  all 
others. 

In  fact,  without  being  deceived,  without  any  hesitation 
and  without  any  possible  error,  every  one  occupies  the  place 
that  he  really  merits  and  that  nothing  can  deprive  him  of. 
The  distinctions,  the  honours,  the  mediocrity  or  splendour 
of  life  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  This  one  is  the  great 
savant,  or  the  great  artist,  or  the  great  workman ;  that  one 
is  the  vulgar  man.  Everybody  knows  it,  nobody  has  any 
doubt  of  it,  and  it  is  as  evident  as  if  they  had  been  marked 
on  the  brow  by  an  indelible  sign.  One  individual's  clothes 
are  covered  with  embroidery,  he  is  a  member  of  every  com- 


222  PARIS 

pany,  twenty  times  a  dignitary  and  horribly  spattered  with 
badges ;  another,  garbed  in  an  old  great  coat,  without  a  noth- 
ing bleeding  at  the  buttonhole,  and  crowned  with  his  white 
hairs,  dwells  in  a  garret  amid  folios.  Nevertheless,  this 
one  is  surely  the  hero,  the  demagogue  and  the  creator;  and 
the  other  one  deceives  nobody,  not  even  himself.  Who 
has  distributed  the  honour  or  the  contempt  to  which  each 
of  these  men  is  entitled  ?  It  is  that  invisible  and  im- 
peccable justice  which  in  Paris  reigns  over  the  souls  of  all 
men. 

And,  especially,  over  the  souls  of  all  women.  They 
know,  and  know  profoundly,  that  with  themselves  the 
splendour  of  the  countenance,  the  beautiful  proportions  of 
the  form,  the  sincerity  of  the  gaze,  the  rapidity  of  the 
thought,  and  the  grace  of  the  attitude  mark  those  who  in 
the  true  acceptation  of  the  word  are  princesses  of  the  blood, 
and  that  duchesses,  worthy  of  that  name,  may  be  born  on 
the  Quai  de  la  Rappe  as  well  as  in  the  old  historic  man- 
sions of  the  Rue  de  Lille.  Aurelien  Scholl  has  related  that 
terrifying  and  poignant  tragedy  of  a  great  lady,  beautiful 
(because  she  wanted  to  be),  elegant,  courted,  and  surrounded 
with  men,  who,  one  fine  day,  wanted  to  know  what  she 
was  really  worth  in  the  open  market.  To  put  this  to  the 
test,  she  went  and  took  her  seat  among  the  girls  in  the  low 
room  of  a  Maison  des  Fleurs^  and  this  woman,  who  saw 
worlds,  millions,  vast  regions,  and  the  treasures  of  Bengal 
and  Ophir  at  her  feet,  did  not  find  a  single  man  there  who 
would  offer  a  vile  piece  of  gold  to  buy  her. 


LA  VILLE  223 

Oh,  the  women  of  Paris  know  this  terrible  tale;  they 
have  all  read  it.  And  those  who  have  not  read  it  have 
divined  it.  Therefore,  each  of  them,  intuitively  and  by  a 
miracle  of  knowledge,  knows  exactly  what  she  is  worth,  as 
well  as  what  other  women  are  worth.  On  that  question 
there  is  no  possible  illusion  or  mistake,  and  the  glitter  of  a 
robe  by  Worth,  embellished  with  more  gold,  embroidery, 
furbelows,  and  gewgaws  than  the  heaven  has  stars,  does 
not  suffice  to  induce  the  belief  that  there  is  a  woman  in  it, 
if  there  is  not.  More  than  this,  a  future  Princess  de  Cad- 
ignan  may  be  combed  with  a  nail,  bundled  up  in  rags,  and 
shod  with  ignoble  shoes,  and  yet  all  the  women  will  see  upon 
her  back  the  triumphant  robes  to  which  she  virtually  has  a 
right. 

For  nothing  can  prevent  a  truly  aristocratic  woman  from 
some  day  rising  to  her  veritable  rank,  nor  can  anything 
force  her  to  fall  from  it.  In  the  air  of  Paris  there  is  an 
ambrosia  that  restores  the  goddesses  to  their  native 
splendour,  even  when  travestied  as  sweepers,  and  mys- 
teriously cleanses  them  of  all  their  stains. 

Fires  were  lighted  along  the  Mountains  of  Ida,  and  the 
promontory  of  Hermes  and  Lemnos  to  Athos,  to  announce 
the  fall  of  Troy.  There  were  voices  and  signals  on  the 
sea.  There  were  semaphores  raised  on  the  towers  that 
desperately  raised  and  lowered  their  great  absurd  arms,  soon 
eaten  and  devoured  by  the  fogs.  There  is  now  the  electric 
wire  under  the  sea  that  bears  to  New  York  for  the  morn- 
ing journals  long  notices  of  the  piece  performed  the  evening 


224  PARIS 

before.  These  gross  and  material  engines  are  not  needed 
for  intercommunication  among  Parisians ;  for,  in  their  city, 
as  I  have  said,  thought  transmits  itself  by  its  own  force  and 
without  any  intermediary.  If  an  inhabitant  of  Montrouge 
murmurs  a  word  in  a  low  tone,  two  seconds  afterward  all 
the  natives  of  Montmartre  know  it.  Thus  even  if  or  par- 
ticularly when  he  has  not  been  present,  any  Parisian  has 
seen  all  the  solemnities,  all  the  battles,  all  the  rejoicings,  all 
the  official  balls,  and  all  the  comedies,  so  that  there  is  no 
difference  between  those  who  were  present  and  those  who 
were  absent  unless  it  is  that  those  who  were  absent  were 
present  rather  more  than  the  others. 

And  one  might  cite  a  thousand  examples  to  prove  the  ex- 
istence of  this  phenomenon.  Ruined,  exhausted  and  half- 
dead  by  excessive  work,  a  very  able  writer,  whom  his 
friends  familiarly  called  Edgar,  had  gone  to  make  a  long 
stay  at  the  Bordighera,  for  the  purpose  of  taking  a  great 
sunlight  bath  and  recovering  his  health,  if  possible.  This 
cure  succeeded  beyond  his  hopes.  After  a  few  months 
spent  in  the  warmth  and  sunlight,  he  was  almost  well  and 
had  nothing  more  to  do  than  to  let  himself  live  ;  but  sud- 
denly he  was  seized,  overcome  and  clutched  at  the  heart  by 
Parisian  nostalgia. 

"  It  is  stronger  than  I,"  he  said  to  a  friend  of  his  youth 
whom  he  had  met  there.  "  I  feel  the  need  of  acquiring 
new  strength,  of  reviving  my  soul,  of  recovering  myself  and 
being  healed  in  the  divine  tomb  of  Paris.  I  want  to  see  all 
the  fetes,  the  balls  and  the  re-unions,  of  attending   all  the 


LA  VILLE  225 

first  performances,  reading  the  new  books  before  they  have 
appeared,  running  over  the  newspapers  while  damp  from 
the  press,  admiring  the  most  recently  invented  women, 
queens  and  duchesses  in  their  carriages,  or  on  their  fiery 
horses." 

Edgar  departed  as  he  had  said,  returned  to  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain  where  his  chambers  looked  upon  the  great 
gardens,  found  his  beautiful  silken  cushions,  his  carpets,  his 
books  and  all  that  pretty  abode  that  he  had  lovingly 
created ;  and  with  reason  he  found  it  so  delightful  that  he 
did  not  go  out.  And  yet,  when  he  returned  to  the  Bor- 
dighera  and  his  friend  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  all  that  he 
had  wanted  to  see,  he  said,  "  Ah  !  certainly  ;  "  and  with  a 
convincing  eloquence  he  told  of  the  re-unions,  the  comedies, 
the  beauty  of  the  women,  the  transfiguration  of  the 
Parisian  landscape  with  great  exactness  and  without  lying 
or  making  the  mistake  of  a  syllable,  for,  in  fact,  he  had 
seen  it  all  by  the  mere  fact  of  being  in  Paris.  And  this 
magnetism  of  the  atmosphere  does  not  merely  serve  for  see- 
ing and  hearing  everything  without  the  aid  of  the  material 
senses,  it  also  gives  to  the  Parisians,  in  an  ideal  and  at  the 
same  time  real  manner,  the  things,  the  beings,  the  treasures, 
and  all  the  enjoyments  of  possession. 


LES  BOULEVARDS 

LOUIS  ENJULT 

THE  boulevards  are  like  a  little  city  in  a  great  one, 
— a  second  Paris  within  itself,  the  capital  of 
Paris,  as  Paris  is  the  capital  of  the  world, — or 
rather  it  is  a  little  universe  of  a  league  and  a  half  in  length 
by  a  hundred  metres  in  width.  Five  or  six  times,  the 
Boulevard  changes  its  name  as  it  does  its  character.  There 
are  various  kingdoms  separated  by  a  brook  that  separates 
them  as  profoundly  as  an  ocean  divides  two  empires. 
From  one  side  to  the  other,  mariners  and  population,  habits 
and  inhabitants,  everything  differs.  The  Boulevard  has  ex- 
isted scarcely  sixty  years. 

Sixty  years  ago  (in  1800)  it  started  from  a  prison  and  came 
out  in  a  desert.  To-day,  on  the  ruins  of  the  prison  the  Genius 
of  Liberty  spreads  its  wings  of  gold,  and  the  desert  is  an 
elegant  quarter.  It  traced  a  line  across  an  uninhabited  re- 
gion, full  of  sloughs  and  puddles,  covered  with  boards, 
^  dotted  with  wooden  shanties  and  ambushed  by  footpads 
who  infested  the  lonely  district.  To-day  it  is  a  macadam 
road — macadam  is  the  last  word  of  civilization  for  artificial 
mud  ! — given  up  to  horsemen  and  carriages ;  a  fine  row  of 
trees,  that  are  cut  down  at  every  revolution  and  replanted 
on  the  morrow ;  a  wide  bitumen  path  for  pedestrians,  and 
two  long  avenues  of  monumental  houses.     Parisian  life  has 

226 


LES  BOULEVARDS  227 

been  transferred  more  and  more  from  the  Seine  to  the 
Boulevard  in  proportion  as  money  has  dominated  the  no- 
bility, and  the  Chaussee-d'Antin  has  conquered  the  aristo- 
cratic faubourg. 

When  the  Boulevard  had  inherited  the  Palais  Royal,  the 
police  closing  its  games  and  driving  away  the  women, 
its  fortune  thenceforth  was  assured ;  it  became  the  rallying 
point  of  the  globe,  the  forum  where,  under  the  grey  skies, 
all  tongues,  known  and  unknown,  are  spoken  ;  the  bazaar 
of  free  flesh,  where  all  the  races  of  the  world  come  to  be 
judged  on  sample ;  the  kingdom  of  saunterers,  the  centre 
of  business,  the  rendezvous  of  pleasure,  the  hearth  of  inac- 
tivity, the  paradise  of  loitering,  and  everybody's  highway. 
It  is  there  that  in  troublous  times  the  muttering  riot  and  the 
successful  revolution  take  place  ;  when  better  days  return  it 
is  also  the  Capitoline  Way  along  which  serene  Peace  con- 
ducts the  triumph  of  emperors  and  kings.  Stay  for  an  hour 
on  the  path  in  front  of  the  Maison  d'Or,  or  on  Tortoni's 
steps,  and  you  will  hear  the  names  of  all  the  illustrious  men 
in  literature,  art,  politics  and  society.  This  ever  new  parade, 
this  endless  defiling  past,  this  kaleidoscope  of  inexhaustible 
fancies,  this  spectacle  of  a  thousand  representations,  this 
perpetual  going  and  coming,  this  mixture  of  everything,  this 
undulating  and  varied  thing  of  insatiable  curiosity,  ever 
satisfied  and  ever  recurring, — when  once  we  have  seen  it, 
we  shall  never  resign  ourselves  to  see  it  no  more. 

It  is  on  Sunday  under  the  first  April  suns  that  the  Boule- 
vard should  be   seen.      On  that  day  it  does  not  belong  to 


228  PARIS 

the  foreigner :  the  Parisians  have  reconquered  it  from  the 
winter  and  they  enjoy  it  with  the  avidity  of  new  possess- 
ors. The  sunlight  plays  among  the  black  branches,  the 
wind-swayed  shadows  of  which  streak  the  asphalt.  At  the 
tips  of  the  branches  through  the  opening  red  buds  the  ten- 
der leaves  unfold  their  little  favours,  green  as  the  livery  of 
spring.  The  fatigue  of  the  ball  still  pales  the  women's 
cheeks  which  are  already  showing  fresh  life  under  the  pur- 
ple of  new  blood.  How  the  throng  flows  in  from  every 
street  and  spreads  its  living  waves  over  the  bitumen  of  the 
paths  !  Spring  toilettes  are  not  yet  attempted,  but  the 
velvet  mantle  is  open  and  the  hand  half  protudes  from  the 
sleeve ;  the  violet  (price  one  sou)  flourishes  in  the  button- 
hole ;  people  go,  come,  look  at  each  other,  see  and  are 
seen:  for  many  of  them  this  is  the  half  of  life.  The  man 
of  leisure  whose  every  day  is  a  Sunday  elbows  the  man  of 
toil  who  is  snatching  a  few  hours  from  his  close  task.  The 
woman  of  fashion  passes  beside  those  who  would  like  to  be 
one :  Aspasia  crosses  Rigolette,  each  forgetting  to  hate  the 
other  in  the  joy  of  a  warm  breath  of  air,  a  little  gleam  of 
blue  and  a  ray  of  gay  sunlight. 

We  will  take  the  glorious  Pont  d'Austerlitz  as  our  depart- 
ing-point.  Without  dwelling  upon  it,  let  us  indicate  the 
splendid  panorama  spread  out  around  us.  On  our  left  we 
have  the  railway  terminus,  the  Boulevard  de  I'Hopital,  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes  with  its  great  cedar  rising  in  a  pyramid 
beside  its  belvidere  j  the  dome  of  the  Pantheon,  supported 
by  a  circle  of  elegant  columns,  crowning  the  mount  of  Saint- 


LES  BOULEVARDS  229 

Genevieve  ;  and  that  heavier  cupola  in  the  distant  horizon  is 
Val-de-Grace.  To  our  right  is  the  He  de  Louviers,  then 
the  He  Saint-Louis,  and  then  the  Cite  with  its  noble 
cathedral  surrounded  by  its  counter-forts  and  dominated  by 
its  pinnacles  and  small  spires  as  by  a  forest  of  stone.  The 
Colonne  de  Juillet  shows  us  by  what  road  to  reach  the 
Place  de  la  Bastille.  A  bold  bridge  thrown  across  the 
Saint-Martin  canal  brings  us  to  the  foot  of  the  column  that 
occupies  the  centre  of  the  square :  the  Place  de  la  Bastille 
is  the  beginning  of  the  Boulevard. 

Upon  the  Place  de  la  Bastille  no  trace  is  to  be  found  of 
the  celebrated  fortress  that  gave  it  its  name. 

We  know  that  the  Bastille  was  constructed  under 
Charles  V.,  by  the  provost  of  Paris,  Hugues  Aubriot ;  he 
was  one  of  the  first  to  be  shut  up  in  it,  just  as  Guillotin 
tried  the  machine  invented  by  himself.  It  was  then  called 
the  Bastille-Saint-Antoine ;  later  it  was  called  the  Bastille, 
meaning  the  prison  par  excellence.  From  Louis  XL,  the 
king-jailer,  it  received  the  embellishments  that  were  to  make 
it  a  model  prison.  Experts  on  this  sad  question  cite  with 
admiration  the  wooden  cages  studded  with  iron,  widened 
above  and  contracted  below,  in  which  one  could  not  stand 
up,  nor  sit  down,  nor  lie  down.  The  Bastille  was  a  heavy 
building  which  smelt  of  the  prison  a  league  away  :  an  enor- 
mous quadrilateral  of  thick  masonry  and  great  cut  stones ; 
five  big  towers,  half  sunk  in  the  walls  that  connected  them, 
defending  the  fortress.  In  its  circuit  the  wall  contained 
sombre  yards,  damp  courts  into  which  the  sun  never  pene- 


230  PARIS 

trated,  and  a  beautiful  garden  reserved  for  the  governor  to 
walk  about  in.  The  walls  of  the  Bastille  were  too  discreet 
for  the  Bastille  to  have  a  history.  Of  this  poem  of  grief 
and  suffering  we  know  only  a  few  rapid  and  lamentable 
episodes  :  heroes,  martyrs,  scoundrels,  great  ladies,  female 
poisoners,  stage  girls,  illuminated  prophetesses;  all  names 
meet  and  throng  upon  the  too  well-filled  pages  of  the  jail 
register.  Sometimes  the  entire  drama  of  royal  justice  was 
accomplished  within  its  walls,  from  the  preliminary  ques- 
tion to  the  capital  punishment, — without  any  other  wit- 
nesses than  the  judge  and  the  executioner.  It  was  in  the 
Bastille  that  Marshal  Biron  was  decapitated  ;  it  was  there 
that  the  Chevalier  de  Rohan  and  the  Marquise  de  Villars 
had  their  heads  cut  off.  Its  low  door  saw  sovereign  heads 
bend  like  that  of  Saint-Pol,  illustrious  heads  like  that  of 
Voltaire ;  we  have  no  time  to  mention  even  princes  of  the 
royal  blood.  Of  all  the  prisoners  of  the  Bastille,  the  one 
that  for  the  longest  time  has  attracted  attention,  piqued 
curiosity,  and  excited  sympathy  is  that  Iron  Mask,  who 
was  served  at  the  table  with  plate  marked  with  the  lilies  of 
France,  to  whom  the  governor  removed  his  hat  when  ad- 
dressing,— but  whom  the  sun  never  saw.  Even  to-day  the 
identity  of  this  mysterious  personage  remains  one  of  the 
most  unsolvable  problems  of  history. 

The  Bastille  was  destroyed  on  July  14,  1789;  it  is  from 
this  day  that  the  new  era  of  personal  liberty  dates  for 
France.  When  the  populace  penetrated  into  those  cells, 
it  only  found  three  prisoners  there.     Louis  XVI.  had  made 


LES  BOULEVARDS  231 

silent  reparation  for  the  wrongs  of  the  monarchy,  before 
expiating  them  as  an  innocent  victim  in  the  sight  of  the 
world.  When  the  prison  was  overthrown,  a  patriotic 
architect  carved  miniature  Bastilles  out  of  the  ruins  of  the 
monument  which  were  sent  to  the  Departments.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  materials  was  employed  in  the  construction 
of  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde  and  Pont  de  Sainte-Pelagie. 

Two  months  before  the  violent  destruction  of  the  Bas- 
tille, the  tiers-'etat  of  Paris  had  asked  that  on  the  site  of 
this  destroyed  and  razed  prison  a  vast  square  should  be 
established,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  column  should  be 
erected  with  this  inscription  :  "  To  Louis  XVL,  the  re- 
storer of  public  liberty."  In  'go,  on  the  evening  of  the 
first  fete  of  the  federation,  on  their  return  from  the  Champ 
de  Mars,  the  people  organized  a  ball  of  patriots  upon  the 
levelled  soil  of  the  prison,  and,  on  the  door  of  this  impro- 
vised ballroom,  this  inscription  was  placed :  "  Here  people 
dance,"  on  the  very  spot  where  for  so  many  centuries 
might  have  been  read  :  "  Here  people  weep." 

The  Place  de  la  Bastille  long  remained  void  of  durable 
monuments.  Napoleon  resolved  to  build  a  fountain  of 
quite  a  new  kind  there  :  a  colossal  elephant  laden  with  a 
castle  in  the  antique  manner  was  to  discharge  inexhaustible 
streams  through  its  trunk.  The  castle  was  never  seen ; 
the  elephant  remained  in  the  model  stage  for  forty  years, — 
a  plaster  sketch  demolished  in  detail  by  the  rats.  To-day 
upon  the  ruins  of  the  Bastille,  it  is  a  bronze  column  that 
springs  toward  the  sky  ;  it  guards  the  ashes  of  those  who 


232  PARIS 

gave  their  lives  for  an  idea  in  the  two  revolutions  of  1830 
and  1848.  The  Colonne  de  Juillet,  as  it  is  called,  is  not 
supported  vi^ithin  by  stone  filling;  it  is  composed  simply  of 
bronze,  adjusted  by  cylindrical  drums.  A  corkscrew  stair- 
case leads  to  the  top  ;  a  circular  pier  of  stone  surrounded 
by  a  grille  bears  the  columns,  which  rests  upon  a  white 
marble  pedestal,  supported  in  turn  by  a  square  base,  orna- 
mented by  eighty-four  bronze  medallions.  A  lion  passant 
defends  the  western  face  of  the  pedestal ;  the  arms  of  Paris 
are  sculptured  upon  the  opposite  face;  on  the  other  two 
are  engraved  1830  and  the  dates  of  the  three  days;  at  the 
four  angles,  the  Gallic  cock  stands  erect  on  his  bronze 
claws.  Cocks  and  lions  are  the  work  of  Barye,  whose 
hand  can  knead  and  animate  rebellious  matter.  The 
column  is  surmounted  by  the  Genius  of  Liberty  with  ex- 
tended arms,  flaming  brow,  and  half-spread  golden  wings. 
At  the  foot  of  the  column  the  ashes  of  the  victims  are  de- 
posited in  cells.  Every  anniversary  still  brings  its  regrets 
and  memories  crowned  with  immortelles. 

The  Port  Saint-Antoine,  formerly  crenellated  and  forti- 
fied in  the  taste  of  the  Middle  Ages,  has  left  no  vestiges 
upon  the  earth,  nor  any  trace  in  the  memory  of  the  people. 
Only  the  antiquary  can  say,  "  It  was  there  !  "  People  do 
not  listen,  but  pass  on. 

To-day  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  bordered  by  the  Seine 
and  traversed  by  the  Saint-Martin  canal,  is  the  animated  cen- 
tre of  five  or  six  great  ways  of  communication  radiating 
thence,  by  land  or  water,  throughout  Paris. 


C'li-ONM-:  in:  jrii,Li.r  ii'LAri-.  di-:  la  bastille). 


LES  BOULEVARDS  233 

The  Boulevard  Beaumarchais  is  the  first  we  meet  on 
leaving  the  Place  de  la  Bastille.  This  boulevard  was  first 
called  the  Boulevard  Saint-Antoine.  It  received  the  name 
of  Beaumarchais  in  memory  of  the  house  w^hither  the  witty 
author  of  Figaro  came  to  shelter  the  golden  leisure  of  his 
happy  old  age.  This  house,  a  veritable  temple  erected  to 
the  Fine  Arts,  decorated  with  their  most  admirable  produc- 
tions in  pictures,  statues  and  bas-reliefs,  was  demolished 
many  years  since  :  it  gave  annoyance  to  the  Saint-Martin 
canal !  Its  site  was  long  pointed  out.  Caf?ipius  ubi  Troja 
fu'it.  Solitude  succeeded  its  ruins ;  now  that  solitude  is 
built  over  and  we  have  a  new  quarter  and  another  boule- 
vard. Although  still  young,  the  Boulevard  Beaumarchais 
has  already  received  its  baptism  of  fire.  To-day  its  mis- 
fortunes are  forgotten,  the  wounds  of  Paris  soon  cicatrize, 
the  houses,  quickly  run  up  again,  proudly  display  their  vast 
terraces,  their  glittering  windows,  and  their  balconies  like 
iron  lace-work.  The  Boulevard  Beaumarchais  has  a  little 
theatre  that  bears  its  name. 

The  Boulevard  des  Filles-du-Calvaire  may  claim  an  il- 
lustrious origin.  The  Sixteenth  Century  planted  those  fine 
quincunxes,  the  majestic  order  of  which  was  so  dear  to  the 
well-regulated  genius  of  our  good  ancestors.  Louis  XIV. 
planted,  in  rows  like  French  guards,  regiments  of  elms  and 
plane-trees  that  still  shaded  and  refreshed  this  quarter  not 
many  years  ago  ;  the  convent  of  the  Filles-du-Calvaire,  of 
the  order  of  Saint  Benoit,  had  for  its  godfather  and  founder 
that  famous  Capuchin,  Joseph  de  Tremblais,  whom  Riche- 


234  PARIS 

lieu  called  his  right  eye  and  right  arm,  and  whom  the  peo- 
ple called  "  the  grey  Eminence."  The  Revolution  "  put 
the  beard  on  the  Capuchin "  and  razed  the  chapel  and 
cloisters  of  the  Filles-du-Calvaire :  the  boulevard,  noisy 
and  turbulent,  replaced  the  refuge  of  calm  and  peace.  Be- 
tween the  Filles-du-Calvaire  and  the  passer-by  of  to-day, 
the  boulevard  has  known  an  intermediate  occupant ;  for  a 
long  time  the  wandering  tribe  of  Bohemians  and  mounte- 
banks came  and  camped  in  its  beautiful  shadow. 

Here  is  the  Boulevard  du  Temple  and  we  must  alter  our 
tone  !      Sicelides  Musce^  paulo  majora  canamus  ! 

The  Porte  Saint-Martin  is  the  western  frontier  of  the 
boulevard  that  bears  its  name.  This  gate,  built  at  the  city's 
expense  in  1674,  is  of  a  somewhat  heavy  architecture :  the 
string-course  and  the  piers  are  in  rustic  vermicular  bossages, 
with  bas-reliefs  in  the  spandrils.  One  of  these  bas-reliefs 
represents  Louis  XIV.,  under  the  traits  of  Hercules ;  his 
sole  vesture  is  the  club,  a  singular  costume  for  the  berib- 
boned  son  of  Anne  of  Austria !  The  invincible  Louis,  as 
Boileau  would  say,  overthrows  the  Lernian  hydra  or  the 
Numaean  lion,  representing  Limbourg  or  Besan^on.  The 
first  of  these  bas-reliefs  is  by  Dujardin  and  Marty  ;  the 
second,  by  Lehongre  and  the  elder  Legros.  The  front 
bears  the  inscription  "  To  Louis  the  Great,  for  having 
twice  taken  Besan^on,  and  Franche-Comte  and  crushed 
the  German,  Spanish  and  Dutch  armies  :  the  provost  of 
the  merchants  and  aldermen  of  Paris;   1674." 

The  Porte  Saint-Martin   in  one  direction  faces  the  Rue 


LES  BOULEVARDS  235 

Saint-Martin  as  it  goes  to  join  the  busy  and  populous  quar- 
ters traversed  by  the  Rue  Rambuteau ;  in  the  other,  the 
Rue  du  Faubourg  Siiint-Martin,  extending  toward  La  Vil- 
lette, — vast  arteries,  always  full  and  distended,  in  which 
the  sap  of  industry  and  labour  circulates. 

The  Boulevard  Saint-Denis  is  not  long,  but  it  begins  at 
the  Porte  Saint-Martin  and  ends  at  the  Porte  Saint-Denis. 
It  could  not  begin  nor  end  better.  Situated  between  the 
faubourgs  of  the  same  names  that  are  like  the  vast  labora- 
tories of  Paris,  this  boulevard  sees  the  torrential  flow  of 
labour  and  industry.  The  great  tall  houses  are  inhabited 
by  things  and  not  by  men. 

The  Porte  Saint-Denis  is  far  superior  to  the  Porte  Saint- 
Martin  :  it  is  truly  an  artistic  monument.  The  principal 
arch,  which  certainly  lacks  neither  grandeur  nor  elevation, 
opens  between  two  pyramids  sunk  in  the  thickness  of  the 
monument  and  abundantly  ornamented  with  warlike  tro- 
phies ;  at  the  top  they  bear  the  symbolic  globe  of  the  world  ; 
at  their  base  and  set  upon  the  cornices  of  their  pedestals 
are  two  colossal  statues  representing  Holland  and  the 
Rhine.  Holland  is  a  female  of  opulent  form  seated  upon 
the  Netherland  lion,  no  less  cast  down  than  herself:  this 
poor  lion  holds  under  his  large  paw  the  seven  arrows,  em- 
blems of  the  seven  United  Provinces ;  it  is  Holland  dis- 
arming herself:  it  would  be  hard  to  put  more  grace  into 
it.  The  Rhine  rests  one  hand  on  a  tiller  and  in  the  other 
holds  a  cornucopia  that  without  doubt  he  is  about  to 
empty  over  France  notwithstanding   the   words   of  the  pa- 


236  PARIS 

triotic  poet :     "  No,  you  shall  not  have  the  free  German 
Rhine  !  " 

Above  the  arcade,  on  the  southern  face,  a  large  bas-relief 
represents  the  passage  of  the  Rhine — not  at  the  moment 
when  he  is  crossing  but  when  he  is  complaining  of  his 
greatness  that  keeps  him  on  the  bank.  In  the  pedestal  of 
each  of  the  lateral  pyramids  a  little  door  has  been  pierced  : 
two  Renowns  are  on  the  central  spandrils,  one  with  the 
trumpet  to  its  lips,  the  other  with  a  laurel  crown  in  its 
hand.  The  plan  and  entire  composition  of  this  gate  are 
due  to  Francois  Blondelj  under  his  orders  were  Girardon 
and  Francois  and  Michel  Auguiere.  The  execution  is  full 
of  nerve  and  boldness.  This  triumphal  arch  was  raised  to 
Louis  XIV.,  in  1672,  by  the  provost  of  the  merchants  and 
aldermen  of  Paris,  to  commemorate  his  rapid  conquests  in 
Germany.  There  is  no  other  inscription  than  these  two 
words  above  the  arch  : 

"  Ludovico  Magno." 

The  boulevard  makes  an  elbow  to  unite  with  the  Rue 
Royale ;  the  disposition  of  the  ground  and  architecture 
forms  a  long  rectangle  bordered  with  houses  and  the  temple, 
seen  obliquely,  projects  the  angle  of  its  portico  into  the 
street  like  a  great  head  of  masonry. 

This  temple  is  the  Madeleine. 

Above  the  pediment  we  read  the  following  inscription  : 

D  O  M  sub  invoc  S.  M.  Magdalenae. 
Is  it  not   a  happy   idea    to    have  solemnly   consecrated 


LES  BOULEVARDS  237 

amidst  the  splendours  of  Paris  the  sweet  memory  of  that 
beautiful  Mary  Magdalen,  who  poured  the  essence  from  her 
vase  of  alabaster  over  the  feet  of  Christ,  wiping  them  with 
her  long  hair, — a  touching  image  of  repentance  that  brings 
us  to  God  ! 

We  have  only  to  judge  this  church  from  the  outside  for 
its  picturesque  aspect,  and  the  scenic  and  decorative  effect 
in  its  surroundings  of  the  square  and  boulevard. 

Seen  in  profile  and  a  little  way  off,  the  temple,  dominat- 
ing all  the  surrounding  buildings  by  its  mass,  presents  a  fine 
perspective  when  our  glance  penetrates  and  loses  itself 
among  the  Corinthian  columns  that  support  the  frieze. 
From  the  side  of  the  Rue  Royale,  a  broad  and  truly  monu- 
mental flight  of  steps  leads  to  the  peristyle,  where  the  colon- 
nade forms  a  double  row  and  supports  Lemaire's  pediment. 
This  pediment  is  twenty-eight  metres  long  and  seven  high. 
Promenaders,  returning  from  the  Champs  Elysees,  can  con- 
template the  grandiose  representation  of  the  last  judgment 
and  Christ  enthroned  amid  the  resuscitated;  to  his  right,  are 
the  angel  of  salvation  and  the  blessed ;  to  his  left,  the  angel 
of  justice  and  the  condemned.  Before  him,  at  his  feet, 
Magdalen  on  her  knees  invokes  and  supplicates  in  favour 
of  the  sinful  city.  All  around  the  edifice  is  a  long  series  of 
colossal  effigies  of  apostles,  martyrs,  and  confessors.  A 
more  or  less  happy  imitation  of  the  Greek  temples,  the 
church  of  the  Madeleine  may  offer  to  our  minds  a  satisfying 
combination  of  lines  and  surfaces,  but  it  generally  leaves  us 
cold,  as  do  all  imitations  and  all  architecture  that  is  not,  if 


238  PARIS 

I  dare  say  so,  aboriginal,  born  of  the  soil,  the  civilization, 
the  manners  and  the  needs  of  a  people. 

Nevertheless,  sometimes  the  Madeleine  presents  itself  in 
perspective  with  a  great  show  of  external  magnificence  ;  it 
is  then  one  of  the  most  sublime  scenes  of  the  stage  upon 
which  the  multiple  drama  of  Parisian  life  is  played. 

Toward  evening  or.  a  fine  day,  when  in  the  west  half  the 
heavens  are  on  fire,  the  temple  in  vigorous  relief  detaches 
its  sombre  silhouette  against  the  brilliant  background. 
From  afar  its  base  seems  to  be  already  plunged  into  shadow ; 
in  the  meanwhile  the  slanting  sun  pours  floods  of  ardent 
purple  over  the  pediment  and  fills  the  vast  portico  with  the 
golden  dust  of  its  rays. 

The  Rue  Royale  leads  us  from  the  Madeleine  to  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde. 


p 


PERE  LACHAISE 

RICHARD  WHITEING 

ERE  LACHAISE,  covering  over  one  hundred  acres, 
and  the  largest  of  the  Paris  cemeteries,  is  in  the 
northeastern  quarter.  It  is  named  after  a  cele- 
brated confessor  of  Louis  XIV.,  w^ho  had  a  country-house 
in  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  laid  out  as  a  cemetery  in 
1804.  It  was  the  scene  of  desperate  fighting  during  the 
Commune.  It  is  open  from  sunrise  to  sunset — seven  is 
the  closing  hour  in  summer.  A  bell  rings  at  closing  time. 
Many  celebrated  persons  are  buried  here,  and  among  the 
tombs  or  monuments  of  interest  are  those  of  Abelard  and 
Heloise,  Bellini,  Gretry,  Boieldieu,  Thiers,  Massena,  Be- 
ranger,  Lafontaine,  Moliere  (the  last  two  transferred  from 
their  original  place  of  burial),  Daubigny  the  painter,  Due 
de  Morny,  Michelet  the  historian  (the  sculpture  by  Mercie), 
Couture  the  painter  (a  bust  and  an  allegorical  figure  in 
bronze  by  Barrias).  Along  with  these  are  two  monuments 
to  soldiers  and  to  National  Guards  killed  in  the  war,  the 
former  erected  by  the  government  and  adorned  with  im- 
posing statues  in  bronze.  In  some  monuments  the  merit 
commemorated  is  of  a  peculiar  kind.  A  large  chapel,  with 
a  sarcophagus  at  the  top,  reminds  us  of  the  virtues  of  M. 
Ed.  Blanc  the  founder  of  the  gaming-tables  at  Monaco. 
The  very  highest,  a  pyramid  shooting  one  hundred  and  five 

239 


240  PARIS 

feet  into  the  air,  was  built  for  100,000  francs  to  let  posterity 
know  that  Consul  Beaujour  died  in  1836.  It  is  appro- 
priately called  the  Sugar-loaf.  Dejazet,  Balzac,  Francois 
Arago,  Casimir  Delavigne,  Racine,  Alfred  de  Musset, 
Rachel,  Mars,  Talma,  Rossini,  Casimir  Perier,  may  be 
added  to  the  previous  list  of  really  distinguished  names. 


LA  PLACE  ROYALE—iPUce  des  Vosges) 

JULES  CLARET  IE 

WITH  its  large  houses  of  red  stones  and  its  vast 
roofs  of  slate,  supported  by  elegant  arcades, 
the  Place  Royale  is  of  all  Places  in  Paris  the 
one  whose  general  features  are  at  once  the  most  curious 
and  charming.  From  a  distance — from  the  Boulevard 
Beaumarchais — you  perceive  the  house  that  stands  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  des  Vosges ;  you  go  a  little  farther,  and 
while  advancing  you  have  suddenly  stepped  back  two 
centuries.  This  is  no  longer  the  Paris  of  to-day,  it  is  the 
Paris  of  Louis  XIII.  The  hour  of  the  raffin'es  runs  on, 
they  say,  to  strike  anew,  and  from  these  enclosed  houses 
certainly  there  issues  a  procession  of  elegant  lords  and  great 
ladies  in  trailing  robes. 

In  velvet  pourpoints  and  silken  skirts,  in  plumes  and 
lace,  with  felt  hats  gallantly  turned  up,  and  swords  proudly 
worn,  M.  d'Aumont  and  M.  de  Pisani,  Madame  de  Mon- 
tansier  and  Mademoiselle  de  Polalion,  Cinq-Mars  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  Thou,  Pere  Joseph  in  a  grey  robe  going  to 
join  his  Red  Eminence  ;  a  whole  century — and  what  a  cen- 
tury !  It  is  there,  still  living ;  or,  rather,  existing  as  a 
phantom,  it  comes  to  haunt  these  galleries  where  it  loved, 
laughed,  paraded,  threatened,  threw  kisses  in  the  air,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  drew  its  sword.     Extinguished  passions, 

241 


242  PARIS 

defunct  elegances !  Moss  now  greens  the  balconies  where 
the  lady  leaned  and  to  which  the  lover  climbed ;  at  that 
window,  now  opening,  it  is  not  Marion  who  will  appear, 
but  a  good  bourgeois  wrapped  in  flannel  who,  as  he  coughs, 
looks  at  the  degree  of  temperature  registered  by  his 
thermometer  hanging  there.  It  is  no  longer  the  Marechal  de 
Biron,  nor  the  Marechal  de  Roquelaure,  nor  the  Marechal 
de  la  Force,  nor  M.  de  Bellegarde  who  talk  of  combats 
and  adventures  as  they  cross  the  Place ;  it  is  the  foot-soldier 
in  large  shoes,  the  groom  going  to  curry  his  horse,  the 
humble  private  strolling  and  hanging  about  the  nursemaid  in 
her  white  cap  and  apron.  What  would  you  say  of  it  all, 
Ninon  ? 

My  handsome  lovers,  my  soldiers  in  ruffles,  all  is  over 
now.  Your  garden  is  a  square.  Where  Desportes  recited 
his  poems,  a  little  book-shop  sells  the  popular  songs. 
Malherbe  reappears,  with  his  mouth  full  of  odes.  Alas ! 
under  the  arcades,  a  street  Arab  passes  whistling  the  refrain 
now  in  fashion,  and  to  the  poet  who  cried : 

"  Elle  itait  de  ce  fnonde  ou  les  plus  belles  chases 
Ont  le  pire  destin  " 

echo  replies : 

"  La  belle  Venus, 
La  Venus  aux  carottes !" 

Your  famous  arcades — where  Pierre  Corneille,  who  had 
not  yet  written  Med'ee^  placed  the  scene  of  one  of  his 
comedies  (it  also  was  called  La  Place  Royale^  and  roused  a 
great  outcry,  particularly  among  the  women,  who   found 


LA  PLACE  ROYALE  243 

themselves  a  little  too  severely  railed  at),  vi^here  your 
luxury  flowed,  vv^here  your  wit  sparkled,  where  your  anger 
growled,  and  where  your  loves  were  sung, — the  fruit-sellers, 
stay-makers,  tobacconists,  cabinet-makers  and  dealers  in  old 
clothes  have  taken  by  assault.  Here,  upon  these  posts 
where  Mademoiselle  Marcelle  perhaps  wrote  so  that  the 
ingrate,  M.  de  Guise,  could  read  her  death-song  as  he 
passed — for  in  those  days  people  died  for  love ; — they  have 
painted  in  black  letters,  blue  letters,  and  red  letters,  "  So- 
and-so  the  watchmaker,  so-and-so  the  glover,  and  so-and-so 
the  tailor.  Ah !  Monsieur  d'Estrees,  Monsieur  de  Turin, 
Monsieur  de  Joyeuse  !  "  Ah  !  Monsieur  de  Luneterre,  e 
finita  la  musica.  The  laurels  have  been  cut  and  the  happy 
days  are  extinguished  !     Jh  !  le  bon  billet  qu'a  la  Chatre? 

On  the  side  of  the  Rue  Royale,  however,  the  Place 
Royale  seems  to  have  resisted  the  invasion  of  the  little 
shops.  It  is  doleful  there  and  sombre  as  a  prison;  its 
windows  are  barred,  its  doors  look  lifeless  and  shut  forever; 
its  rare  passengers  seem  to  have  been  possessed  of  renuncia- 
tion or  sacrifice.  The  stones  are  black,  the  arches  are 
cracked,  and  rust  and  dust  are  everywhere.  The  Place 
seems  here  to  protest  against  the  present.  It  is  here  the 
same  as  ever ;  its  vast  courts  have  not  changed  in  the  least. 
It  looks  sick  and  tired,  but  it  will  not  give  up. 

The  military  and  the  humble  citizens,  the  nurses  and  the 
tenants  have  garden  benches  to  sit  upon  and  bask  in  the 
sun.  Here,  as  in  every  other  place  where  there  is  sky  and 
grass,  we  find  children  and  old  men.     Those  who  know 


244  PARIS 

nothing  of  life  and  those  who  know  it  too  well  are  united 
here  by  the  same  sentiment — the  love  of  flowers  and  of 
animals.  But  while  the  child  lays  them  waste  or  beats 
them,  the  aged — who  know  the  value  of  a  caress  or  a 
perfume — replant  the  torn  rose-tree  or  tend  the  beaten 
dog. 

In  the  centre  of  the  garden,  Louis  XIII.,  in  white 
marble,  parades  on  horseback,  a  few  steps  from  a  fountain. 
The  statue  is  by  Dupaty  and  Cortot.  It  is  an  excellent 
example  of  the  most  deplorable  statuary.  The  king, 
combed  with  the  utmost  precision,  seems  to  have  just  left 
the  hands  of  his  hair-dresser,  and  his  moustaches  are  geo- 
metrically curled  on  his  upper  lip.  No  expression  !  Not 
the  slightest  character !  The  horse  leans  his  belly  upon 
the  trunk  of  a  tree.  There  is  no  inscription  upon  the 
pedestal.  The  uniformed  frequenters  of  the  Place  Royale, 
forgetting  the  hours  of  the  barracks,  generally  mistake  this 
Louis  XIII.  for  a  Roman  warrior  or  a  marshal  of  France. 
The  statue,  moreover,  is  scarcely  visible,  surrounded  and 
hidden  by  trees.  The  leaves,  it  would  seem,  are  anxious 
to  rob  the  public  of  Dupaty's  work.  These  leaves  have 
good  taste.  What  a  charming  promenade  is  this  Place, 
nevertheless,  and  how  good  it  is  to  dream  beneath  its 
arcades  !  You  walk  here  weaving  memories,  just  as  if  you 
were  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  book.  -Each  step  brings 
a  chronicle,  or  a  story,  one  of  those  beautiful  stories  of 
cloak  and  sword,  which  seem  to  us  like  legends.  These 
red  bricks,  these  scaling  slates,  these  crumbling  stones  be- 


LA  PLACE  ROYALE  245 

come  animated  and  speak.  At  twilight,  in  the  uncertain 
shadows,  you  sometimes  perceive,  as  if  in  the  depths  of  a 
convent  passage,  vague  silhouettes  assuming  form ;  you 
hasten  to  approach  them  to  ascertain  if  it  is  not  the  car- 
dinal's litter  that  you  see  in  the  shadow,  or  if  these  belated 
men  are  not  coming,  dirk  in  hand,  to  settle  some  affair  of 
honour  beneath  the  window  of  their  lady.  It  would  take 
an  entire  volume  to  relate  the  adventures  and  elegances  of 
the  Place  Royale. 

There  was  formerly  the  Hotel  of  the  king,  the  Hotel  des 
Tournelles,  that  formidable  and  charming  palace,  menac- 
ing without,  magnificent  within.  The  chancellor,  Pierre 
d'Orgemont,  it  is  said,  had  it  rebuilt  expressly  for  his  son, 
who  was  bishop  of  Paris,  and  sold  it  to  the  brother  of 
King  Charles  V.  The  Tournelles  was  to  become  the  resi- 
dence of  the  kings  of  France,  but  before  that  the  duke 
of  Bedford  was  destined  to  keep  garrison  there  for  the  king 
of  England.  It  was  here  that  the  tournament  was  held  at 
which  Henry  II.  was  killed  by  the  captain  of  the  Scottish 
guard.  Catherine  de  Medici  blamed  herself  for  the  theatre 
of  the  murder,  while  waiting  to  revenge  herself  upon  the 
murderer.  The  palace  was  abandoned  and  then  demol- 
ished. The  ground  that  it  occupied  became  a  horse- 
market,  and  the  raffin'es  cfhonneur  kept  rende-zvous  there, 
dirk  or  sword  in  hand,  to  settle  their  terrible  or  trivial 
quarrels.  They  fought  for  a  word,  for  a  sign,  for  the  hue 
of  a  pourpoint,  for  the  knot  of  a  ribbon,  for  nothing, — for 
pleasure.     They  killed  themselves  to  kill  time.     It  was  also 


246  PARIS 

the  date  of  savage  hatreds.     This  terrible  Sixteenth  Cen- 
tury presents  itself  before  history  armed  to  the  teeth. 

One  morning  in  April,  1578,  mignons  and  gui sards  met 
at  the  Tournelles.  There  was  a  furious  encounter  with 
swords — Schomberg,  Riberac  and  d'Entraigues  against  Liv- 
arot,  Quelus  and  Maugiron.  Quelus,  the  effeminate,  re- 
ceived nineteen  wounds  but  did  not  die  until  a  month 
afterward.  They  carried  away  d'Entraigues  and  Livarot, 
who  seem  to  have  recovered  by  a  miracle ;  Riberac  had 
but  twelve  hours  to  live,  but  he  saw  Maugiron  and  Schom- 
berg die. 

Que  Dieu  re(oive  en  son  giron 

Quelus,  Schomberg  et  Alaugiron  ! 

The  Place  Royale  should  have  begun  as  it  ends,  with 
the  bourgeoisie.  They  were  silk  merchants  who,  during  the 
reign  of  Henri  IV.  and  on  the  site  of  this  enclosed  field, 
built  a  row  of  houses  half  brick  and  half  stone  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  their  shops.  A  truly  marvellous  effect 
was  noticed.  The  king  wished  the  isolated  row  to  be- 
come a  place  and  the  Place  Royale  sprang  from  the  ground. 
It  was  soon  to  become  the  heart  of  Paris,  or,  at  least,  its 
brain,  the  gathering  place  of  tout  Paris  for  all  time,  the 
vagabond  centre  of  the  city,  which  shifts  according  to 
the  time,  and  was  ascending  at  this  moment  toward  the 
Champs  £lysees  and  toward  Beaujon.  Interrogate  these 
galleries  and  these  old  houses ;  their  history  was  our  his- 
tory. Ninon  de  Lenclos  lives  here,  over  there  Marion 
Delorme.     Madame  de  Sevigne  was  born  here,  Dangeau 


LA  PLACE  ROYALE  247 

wrote  here.  Chapelle  and  Bachaumont  appointed  meet- 
ings here.  The  Place  witnessed  one  superb  fete.  It  hap- 
pened in  16 1 2.  Peace  was  to  be  signed  with  the  king  of 
Spain.  Marie  de  Medeci  wished  to  celebrate  it  worthily. 
A  palace  arose,  the  Palais  de  la  Felicit'e^  and  a  procession 
was  organized.  Two  thousand  figurants^  and  among  them 
the  most  elegant  men  of  the  noblest  titles,  took  part  in  the 
heroic  masquerade.  There  were  cavalcades  and  feats  of 
arms.  The  challengers  called  themselves  Lysandre,  Alphee, 
Argant,  Leontide,  and  Alcinor,  and  led  men-at-arms.  Upon 
the  scaffoldings  was  seated  the  entire  court  in  rich  cos- 
tumes. And  for  two  days,  two  entire  days,  the  gallant 
mythology  unfolded  its  pageantry,  its  gold,  its  plumes,  and 
its  silk  sub  sole  crudo  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

But  this  comedy  once  played  in  Place  Royale,  tragedy 
resumes  its  rights.  At  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  Francois 
de  Montmorency,  Seigneur  de  Boutteville,  was  illustrious, 
and  renowned  for  his  bravery  ;  he  had  been  seen  to  fight 
nearly  everywhere,  in  Languedoc,  and  in  Saintonge  at  the 
taking  of  Saint-Jean-d'Angely.  He  was  taken  still  breath- 
ing from  a  mine  at  the  siege  of  Montauban.  He  loved 
danger  for  the  sake  of  danger  and  when  the  battle  was 
over  he  gave  himself  up  to  duelling  for  pastime.  He 
fought  despite  arrests,  despite  the  king,  despite  the  cardinal, 
despite  God,  despite  the  devil.  He  was  fighting  on  Easter 
Day,  1624;  he  came  to  kill  the  Comte  de  Thorigny  in  the 
close  behind  the  Chartreux.  La  Frelle  reproached  him  for 
not  having  chosen  him  for  his  second.     Necessarily  he  had 


248  PARIS 

to  fight  with  La  Frelle.  They  fought.  La  Frelle  was 
wounded,  Boutteville  sought  refuge  in  Brussels,  and  he  was 
obstinately  refused  letters  of  indemnity  for  the  past. 
"  Very  well,"  exclaimed  Boutteville,  "  since  the  king  re- 
fuses me  everything,  I  will  go  to  Paris  and  fight  in  the 
Place  Royale  !  "  He  did  as  he  said,  with  Des  Chapelles  as 
his  second,  against  the  Marquis  de  Beuvron,  a  relative  of 
Thorigny,  and  Bussy  d'Amboise.  Beuvron  and  Boutte- 
ville fought  with  their  swords,  but  could  not  reach  each 
other;  then  they  threw  away  these  weapons,  took  their 
poniards,  collared  each  other,  and  were  about  to  cut  each 
other's  throats  without  further  ceremony.  "  Bah  !  I  will 
give  you  your  life  !  "  said  Boutteville.  "  I  will  do  as  much 
for  you  !  "  said  Beuvron.  At  this  moment  des  Chapelles 
returned  to  its  scabbard  the  sword  with  which  he  was  about 
to  kill  Bussy  dAmboise.  As  flight  was  imperative,  they 
tried  to  gain  Lorraine.  The  marshalsea  (court  of  a  mar- 
tial) arrested  them.  Death  was  certain.  They  submitted 
to  it  proudly.  The  Duchesse  de  Pompadour  and  the  Prin- 
cesse  de  Conde  entreated  the  king  for  them,  weeping  at  his 
feet.  Louis  XIIL  was  content  to  reply  :  "  I  am  as  sen- 
sible to  their  loss  as  you ;  but  my  conscience  forbids  me 
to  pardon  them."  Behind  the  monarch's  pale  face  there 
stood,  rigid  and  severe,  the  figure  of  Richelieu,  inflexible 
and  calm  as  the  law. 

The  cardinal-minister,  in  irony  perhaps,  had  in  1669,  a 
statue  of  his  sad  master  put  up  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
Place  Royale.     The  Place  Royale  became  the  Place  Fe- 


LA  PLACE  ROYALE  249 

deres  in  '92  and  the  statue  was  overturned.  It  was  des- 
tined to  be  remounted  in  a  new  form  upon  its  pedestal  in 
18 15.  The  year  1848  gave  the  Place  Royale  the  name 
that  it  bore  under  the  consulate  and  empire, — Place  des 
Vosges, 

Of  all  these  houses,  one  is  particularly  celebrated.  This 
is  No.  6,  the  Hotel  Guemenee,  where  Victor  Hugo  lived 
for  a  long  time.  The  Hotel  Carnavalet,  two  steps  away, 
saw  the  birth  or  re-birth  of  our  French  language  with  all 
its  affectations  and  delicacy. 

No.  6  Place  Royale  helped  toward  the  blossoming  of 
modern  poetry  and  the  modern  drama  with  all  their  au- 
dacity and  grandeur.  Those  who  were  of  that  epoch  have 
told  us  with  what  flutterings  of  heart  they  mounted  the 
steps  of  that  staircase  and  with  what  surprise  they  came 
out,  bearing  a  counsel  and  an  example.  Ah  !  what  a  happy 
time  was  that. 

It  was  also  in  the  Place  Royale  one  morning  in  1858, 
that  I  saw  the  funeral  procession  of  that  woman  who  had 
succeeded  in  forcing  Corneille  and  Racine  upon  our  atten- 
tion, and  resuscitating  Melpomene  as  one  might  galvanize 
marble.  Rachel  lived  at  No,  9,  Place  Royale.  On  that 
day  tragedy  herself  was  buried. 


THE  HOTEL  DE  SENS 

A.  J.   C.   HJRE 

IN  the  Rue  de  Figuier,  behind  the  Hotel  de  Saint-Paul, 
will  be  found  the  remains  of  the  Hotel  de  Sens, 
once  enwoven  with  the  immense  pile  of  buildings 
which  formed  the  royal  residence.  Jean  le  Bon,  returning 
from  his  captivity  in  London,  was  here  for  some  time  as  the 
guest  of  the  Archbishop  of  Sens.  Charles  V.  bought  the 
Hotel  from  Archbishop  Guillaume  de  Melun,  but  upon  the 
destruction  of  the  rest  of  the  palace,  that  part  which  had 
belonged  to  them  was  restored  to  the  Archbishop  of  Sens. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  the  Hotel  was 
rebuilt  by  Archbishop  Tristan  de  Salazar. 

Under  Henri  IV.  the  palace  was  inhabited  for  a  time  by 
Marguerite  de  Valois  (daughter  of  Henri  II.),  the  licentious 
Reine  Margot,  when,  after  her  divorce,  she  left  Auvergne, 
and  obtained  the  king's  permission  to  establish  herself  in 
Paris.  Here  it  is  said  she  used  to  sleep  habitually  in  a  bed 
with  black  satin  sheets,  in  order  to  give  greater  effect  to 
the  whiteness  of  her  skin.  She  came  to  the  hotel  in  Au- 
gust, 1605,  and  left  it  before  a  year  was  over,  because,  as 
she  was  returning  from  mass  at  the  Celestins,  her  page  and 
favourite,  Julien,  was  shot  dead  at  the  portiere  of  her  car- 
riage, in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  by  Vermond,  one  of  her  former 
lovers.     The  queen  swore  that  she  would  neither  eat  nor 

250 


.231 


HOTEL   DE   SENS. 


THE  HOTEL  DE  SENS  251 

drink  till  she  was  revenged  on  the  assassin,  and  he  was  be- 
headed two  days  after,  in  her  presence  opposite  the  Hotel. 
That  evening  she  left  Paris,  never  to  return,  as  the  people 
were  singing  under  her  windows  — 

"  La  Royne —  Vinus  demi-morte 
De  voir  mourir  devant  sa  parte. 

Son  Adonais,  son  cher  Amour, 
Pour  vengeance  a  devant  sa  face 
Tait  defaire  en  la  mesme  place 

Z'  assassin  presque  au  7nime  jour." 

It  was  within  the  walls  of  the  Hotel  de  Sens,  additionally 
decorated  by  Cardinal  Dupont,  that  Cardinal  de  Pellerve, 
archbishop  of  Sens,  one  of  the  principal  chiefs  of  the 
Ligue,  united  the  leaders  of  the  Catholic  party,  and  there 
he  died,  March  22,  1594,  whilst  a  Te  Deum  was  being 
chanted  at  Notre-Dame  for  the  entry  of  the  king  into  Paris. 

After  the  archbishops  of  Sens  ceased  to  be  metropolitans 
of  Paris  (which  was  raised  from  a  bishopric  to  an  archbish- 
opric in  1622),  they  deserted  their  Hotel,  though  they  were 
only  dispossessed  as  proprietors  by  the  Revolution.  In  the 
last  century  the  Hotel  became  a  diligence  office ;  now  a 
fabrique  de  confitures  occupies  the  chamber  of  la  galante 
reine.^  but  the  building  is  still  a  beautiful  and  important 
specimen  of  the  first  years  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  and 
no  one  should  fail  to  visit  its  gothic  gateway  defended  by 
two  encorbelled  tourelles  with  high  peaked  roofs,  A  porch, 
with  vaulting  irregular  in  plan,  but  exquisite  in  execution; 
its  brick  chimneys,  great  halls,  the  square  donjon  tower  at 


252  PARIS 

the  back  of  the  court,  and  the  winding  stair  of  the  tourelk, 
remain  entire ;  only  the  chapel  has  been  destroyed.  On 
the  left  of  the  entrance  is  an  eight-pounder  ball,  which 
lodged  in  the  wall,  July  28,  1830,  during  the  attack  on  the 
convent  of  Ave  Maria. 


HOTEL  DE  VILLE 

PAUL  STRAUSS 

ON  looking  at  this  magestic  Hotel  de  Ville,  that  is 
one  of  the  jewels  of  artistic  and  architectural 
Paris  and  at  the  same  time  the  fortress  of  munic- 
ipal liberties,  the  mind  recalls  the  ancient  Parloir  aux  bour- 
geois of  the  Place  de  Greve^  the  Maison  aux  Piliers  described 
by  Sauval :  "  As  for  the  building,  it  was  a  little  affair  of 
two  gable  ends  connected  with  several  ordinary  houses.  I 
will  not  amuse  myself  with  a  long  account  of  all  its  apart- 
ments ;  it  is  enough  to  know  that  it  had  two  courts,  a  poul- 
try-house, high  and  low  kitchens,  great  and  small,  stews 
or  baths,  a  chambre  de  parade^  another  called  le  Plaidoyer^  a 
wainscotted  chapel,  a  hall  covered  with  slates,  five  toises 
long  and  three  broad,  and  various  other  conveniences.  In 
1420,  it  still  had  a  large  granary  for  hostelry.  Mahiel,  or 
Mahieu  Bethune  painted  the  hall  belonging  to  the  office, 
and  adorned  it  according  to  the  taste  of  the  day  with  flow- 
ers, lilies  and  roses,  mingled  and  enriched  with  the  Arms 
of  France  and  of  the  city.  The  floor  of  the  rooms  was 
covered  with  a  cloth  in  winter  and  strewn  with  green  grass 
in  summer. 

The  municipal  house  was  not  worthy  of  Paris,  and  Fran- 

253 


254  PARIS 

^ois  I.  enthusiastically  welcomed  the  project  of  the  '■^ prevot 
des  marchands"  to  rebuild  the  Hotel  de  Ville  "which  shall 
be  sumptuous  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  known." 

An  authoritative  art  critic,  M.  Marius  Vachon,  combats 
the  legend  that  attributes  to  Dominique  de  Cortone,  alias 
Boccador,  the  paternity  of  this  celebrated  monument  of  the 
Renaissance ;  he  refers  the  honour  to  Pierre  Chambiges,  a 
French  architect,  "  master  of  the  masonry  works  of  the 
city  of  Paris."  But,  in  spite  of  this  learned  dissertation, 
the  principal  facade  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  will  for  a  long 
time  yet  bear  the  Italian  name  of  Boccador. 

On  several  occasions,  during  the  second  half  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century,  the  Provost  of  the  Merchants  and  the 
Echevins,  studied  plans  for  the  removal  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  that  were  insufficient  and  too  restricted ;  one  of  the 
most  original  propositions  was  that  of  Cosseron,  an  echevin^ 
who  wanted  to  remove  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  the  open  space 
formed  by  the  prolongation  of  the  Pont  Neuf. 

During  the  reign  of  Louis-Philippe,  the  desire  to  isolate 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  to  facilitate  its  defence — following 
the  outbreaks  of  1832  and  1834 — was  not  foreign  to  the 
adoption  of  the  plan  of  development  and  enlargement  of  the 
house  of  the  commonalty,  which  was  executed  under  the 
direction  of  the  architect,  Lesueur,  in  conjunction  with  M. 
Godde;  the  work,  begun  in  1837,  was  completed  in  1846. 
It  cost  more  than  twelve  millions.  The  old  belfry  was  re- 
stored in  1868;  the  reception-rooms  were  decorated  by  the 
most  celebrated  artists  j  Ingres  and  Delacroix  executed  ad- 


HOTEL  DE  VILLE  255 

mirable  paintings  there  ;  the  ceiling  of  the  Salon  de  la  Paix 
vyas  a  genuine  masterpiece.  The  work  of  Ingres  was  uni- 
versally admired. 

The  new  municipal  palace,  reconstructed  by  MM. 
Ballu  and  Deperthes,  faithfully  reproduced  the  plan  and 
style  of  the  old  Hotel  de  Ville ;  the  original  facade  of 
Boccador,  however,  has  been  divided,  the  central  portion 
enlarged,  a  gallery  for  circulation  in  front  of  the  festival 
hall  has  been  arranged  on  the  Place  Loban;  and,  finally, 
new  arrangements  have  permited  the  establishment  of  a 
large  windowed  hall  on  the  side  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  for 
the  use  of  the  Caisse  Municipale. 

The  new  buildings  occupy  a  total  area  of  14,476  metres, 
the  surface  that  can  be  utilized  only  11,876  metres,  and 
one  of  the  criticisms  that  the  architect  Due  aimed  against 
the  old  Hotel  de  Ville  of  Boccador  and  Lesueur  would 
have  the  same  force  and  the  same  truth  to-day. 

It  is  at  night,  in  full  electric  illumination,  in  evening 
toilette,  that  the  city  palace  dazzles  the  eyes  of  its  guests ; 
no  description  can  give  the  effect  produced  by  that  har- 
monious and  imposing  whole,  that  luxurious  setting,  and 
that  superb  frame.  The  great  staircases  and  the  staircase 
of  honour,  the  vestibules,  the  galleries,  the  brilliant  salons 
and  the  marvellous  festival  hall  defy  all  criticism  and  sur- 
pass all  praise.  This  glorious  edifice,  the  history  of  which 
is  mingled  with  that  of  Paris,  seems  to  be  protected  by 
the  images  of  the  ancestors  and  great  men  of  the  city. 
M.  George  Veyrat  has  piously  taken  the  trouble  to  write  the 


256  PARIS 

history  of  the  statues  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  he  has  brought 
to  life  again  the  illustrious  dead  of  this  open  air  Pantheon, 
There  is  not  an  event,  great  or  small,  that  has  not  had  its 
origin  or  its  reaction  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Nothing  more 
attractive  can  be  read  than  the  origin  and  development  of 
that  association  of  water  merchants  that  ended  by  holding 
in  its  hands  all  the  administrative  power,  and  with  which 
even  the  kings  of  France  had  to  count  and  to  accommodate 
themselves.  The  Par  loir  aux  bourgeois  had  even  judicial 
functions :  it  pronounced  sentences  ;  the  municipal  magis- 
trates had  a  hand  in  the  fortifications,  the  street  paving,  the 
maintenance  of  the  highways,  the  quays,  the  bridges,  the 
fountains  and  the  distribution  of  water. 

Every  year,  the  city  bureau,  in  mantle  and  pleated  band,  in 
accordance  with  a  constant  ceremonial,  in  great  pomp 
visited  the  bridges,  the  ramparts,  the  waters  of  Belleville, 
the  Pre  Saint-Gervais,  Arcueil  and  Rungis,  and  the 
fountains.  Their  carriages  were  escorted  by  six  city  guards 
on  horseback  and  two  officers. 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  is  the  central  hearth,  the  supreme 
motor  of  the  communal  life  of  the  twenty-four  quarters  of 
Paris,  but,  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  the  mairie  d* 
arrondissement  chances  to  be  the  civic  house  par  excellence. 
That  is  the  one  that  follows  the  citizen  from  his  birth  to 
his  death,  participating  in  the  most  important  actions  of  his 
life,  receiving  him  on  his  entrance  into  the  world  and 
accompanying  him  to  his  last  abode.  Between  these  ex- 
treme points  of  human  existence,  the  mairie  interposes  at 


HOTEL  DE  VILLE  257 

the  most  decisive  periods, — the  civic  and  military  majority, 
the  nuptial  fetes,  and,  from  beginning  to  end,  it  is  our 
social  headquarters,  the  administrative  domicile  of  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  same  district. 


HOTEL  BARBETTE 

EDOUJRD  FOURNIER 

TURNING  east  from  the  Rue  Veille  du  Temple, 
by  the  Rue  des  Franc-Bourgeois,  we  find  at  the 
angle  a  picturesque  and  beautiful  old  house,  with 
an  overhanging  tourelle^  ornamented  by  niches  and  pin- 
nacles. It  takes  its  name  of  Hotel  Barbette  from  Etienne 
Barbette,  master  of  the  Mint,  and  confidential  friend  of 
Philippe  de  Bel  *'  directeur  de  la  monnoie  et  de  la  voierie 
de  Paris"  who  built  a  house  here  in  1298.  At  that  time 
the  house  stood  in  large  gardens  which  occupied  the  whole 
space  between  the  Cultures  Saint-Catherine  du  Temple,  and 
Saint-Gervais  and  which  had  belonged  to  the  canons  of  Saint- 
Opportune.  Three  more  of  these  vast  garden  spaces,  then 
called  courtilles^  existed  in  this  neighbourhood,  those  of  the 
Temple,  Saint-Martin,  and  Saint-Boucelais.  It  is  recorded 
that  when  the  king  offended  the  people  in  1 306,  by  altering 
the  value  of  the  coinage,  they  avenged  themselves  by  tearing 
up  the  trees  in  the  Courtille  Barbette,  as  well  as  by  sacking 
the  Hotel  of  the  minister,  for  which  twenty-eight  men  were 
hanged  at  the  principal  gates  of  Paris.  Afterward  the 
Hotel  Barbette  became  the  property  of  Jean  de  Montagu, 
then  sovereign-master  of  France,  and  Vidame  de  Laonois  j 

258 


HOTEL  BARBETTE  259 

and,  in  1403,  it  was  bought  by  the  wicked  Oueen  Isabeau 
de  Baviere,  wife  of  Charles  VI.,  and  became  her  favourite 
residence,  known  as  "/^  petit  s'ejour  de  la  reine." 

At  the  Hotel  Barbette,  Queen  Isabeau  was  not  only 
freed  from  the  presence  of  her  insane  husband,  who  re- 
mained at  the  H5tel  Saint-Paul  under  the  care  of  a  mistress, 
but  could  give  herself  up  without  restraint  to  her  guilty 
passion  for  her  brother-in-law,  Louis  Due  d'Orleans,  who 
in  the  words  of  Saint-Foix  "  tachoit  de  d'esennuyer  cette 
princesse  a  r hotel  Barbette.'"  Here,  also,  were  decided  all 
those  affairs  of  state  with  which  the  queen  and  her  lover 
played,  as  the  poor  king,  at  the  Hotel  Saint-Paul,  with  his 
cards,  though,  whatever  his  faults,  the  Due  d'Orleans  was 
at  this  time  the  only  rampart  of  fallen  monarchy,  and  the 
only  protector  of  the  future  king  against  the  rapacity  of  the 
duke  of  Burgundy. 

It  was  on  Wednesday,  November  23,  1407,  that  the 
queen  had  attired  herself  for  the  evening  in  her  trailing 
robes  and  headdress  "  en  comes  merveillenses.,  hantes  et 
longues  enchassees  de  pierreries"  to  receive  the  Due  d' 
Orleans,  whom  Brantome  describes  as  ''  ce  grand  des 
hancheiir  des  dames  de  la  cour  et  des  plus  grandes."  Whilst 
they  were  supping  magnificently,  one  of  the  royal  valets 
named  Schas  de  Courte  Heuse  entered,  and  announced 
that  the  king  desired  the  duke  of  Orleans  to  come  to  him 
immediately,  as  he  wanted  to  speak  to  him  on  matters  of 
the  utmost  importance.  A  presentiment  of  evil  possessed 
the  queen;   but  the  duke,  ''^ sans  chaperon^  apres  avoir  mis 


26o  PARIS 

sa    houppelande  de  damas  noir  fourr'ee"  went  out  at  once, 
playing  with   his  glove  as  he  went,  and  mounted  his  mule, 
accompanied  only  by  two  squires  riding  on  the  same  horse, 
by  a  page  called  Jacob  de  Merre,  and  three  running  foot- 
men with  torches.     But  Raoul  d'Octouville,  formerly  head 
of  the   finances,  who  had  been  dismissed  from  his  post  by 
the  duke,  was  waiting  in  the  shade,  accompanied  by  seven- 
teen  armed  men,  and  instantly  rushed  upon  him  with  cries 
of  "  A  mort !    a  mort !  "      By  the  first  blow  of  his  axe, 
Raoul  cut  off  the  hand  with  which  the  duke  guided  his 
mule,  and  by  another  blow  cleft  open  his  head.     In  vain 
the  duke  cried  out:     "  Je  suis  le  Due  d^ Orleans;  "   no  one 
attempted  to  help  him,  and  he  soon  tottered  and  fell.     One 
of  his  servants  flung  himself  upon  his  prostrate  body  to  de- 
fend it,  and  was   killed  upon  the  spot.     Then,  as  Raoul 
held  over  his  victim  a  torch  which  he  had  snatched  from 
one  of  the  footmen,  and  exclaimed:     '-'■  II  est  bien  mort !  " 
it  Is  affirmed  that  a  hooded  figure  emerged  from  the  neigh- 
bouring Hotel  Notre-Dame,  and  cried  :     "  Extinguish  the 
lights,  then,  and  escape."     On  the  following  day  the  same 
figure  was  recognized  at  the  funeral  of  the  duke  of  Orleans 
in  his  own  chapel  at  the  Celestins ;  it  was  his  first  cousin, 
the   Duke  of   Burgundy.     Only  two  years  later  Jean   de 
Montagu,  Prime  Minister  and  Superintendent  of  Finances, 
the  former   owner   of  the  Hotel    Barbette,   was    beheaded 
at  the  Halles,  and  afterward  hanged,  on  an  accusation  of 
peculation,  but  in  truth  for  no  other  reason  than  because  he 
was  the  enemy  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.     Queen  Isabeau 


HOTEL  BARBETTE  261 

left  the  Hotel  Barbette  after  the  murder  of  her  lover,  and 
shut  herself  up  in  Vincennes. 

In  1521  the  Hotel  Barbette  was  inhabited  by  the  old 
Comte  de  Breze,  described  by  Victor  Hugo : 

"  Affreux,  mal  bati,  vial  tourni, 
Marque  d^  tine  verrue  aii  beau  milien  dti  ni, 
Borgne,  disent  les  tins,  velu,  chetif  et  blhne  ;  " 

and  it  is  said  that  his  beautiful  wife,  Diane  de  Saint 
Vallier,  was  leaning  against  one  of  the  windows  of  the 
hotel,  when  she  attracted  the  attention  of  Francois  I., 
riding  through  the  street  beneath,  and  first  received  from 
that  king  a  passing  adoration  which  laid  the  foundation  of 
her  fortunes,  as  queen  of  beauty,  under  his  successor  Henri 
H.  After  the  death  of  Diane  in  1566,  her  daughters,  the 
Duchesses  Aumale  and  Bourbon,  sold  the  Hotel  Barbette, 
which  was  pulled  down  except  the  fragment  which  we  still 
see,  and  which  was  restored  in  1886. 

In  la  rue  Vieille-du-Temple,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
Francs-Bourgeois,  look  at  the  elegant  tourelle^  whose  corbel- 
ling rounds  the  angle  so  beautifully,  and  which  mounts 
gracefully  toward  the  base  of  the  roof,  unhappily  un- 
covered, with  its  two  stories  of  blossoming  foliage.  This 
is  the  riant  debris  of  that  gloomy  Hotel  Barbette,  whence 
issued  the  Due  d'  Orleans,  brother  of  Charles  VI.,  when 
he  was  killed,  at  the  very  door,  by  the  followers  of  Jean 
sans  Peur.  A  lamp,  which  should  burn  forever,  was  placed 
there  by  one  of  the  assassins,  in  expiation  of  the  crime. 
Tradition  says  that  La  belle  Feronniere  dwelt  near  by  and 


262  PARIS 

that  it  was  by  the  light  of  the  murderer's  lamp,  placed 
almost  upon  the  tourelle^  that  her  husband  saw  Francois  I. 
escape  one  night  from  a  visit  to  her. 

How  much  history  dwells  in  this  little  corner !  The 
tour  elk  is  no  longer  proud.  After  having  been  the  orna- 
ment of  a  feudal  hotel,  transformed  into  the  dwelling  of  a 
rich  financier  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  what  has  it 
not  become,  without  losing  any  of  its  exterior  grace,  not 
even  the  grating,  so  finely  worked,  of  its  little  window  ? 
It  is  the  very  humble  dependency  of  the  bedroom  of  the 
grocer,  whose  shop  is  found  below. 


MUS^E  CARNAVALET 

EDOUJRD  FOURNIER 

THE  sculptures  of  the  Hotel  Carnavalet,  where  Ma- 
dame de  Sevigne  lived,  are  authentic.     They  are 
among  the  most  remarkable  productions  of  Jean 
Goujon. 

Jacques  de  Ligneris,  Seigneur  de  Crosne,  president  of 
the  parliament  of  Paris,  for  whom  these  works  were  made, 
was  a  very  cultivated  man  in  matters  of  art.  He  wished 
nothing  mediocre  for  the  Hotel,  the  site  for  which  he  pur- 
chased in  1544  in  the  ploughed  lands  of  the  Culture  Sainte- 
Catherine.  Pierre  Lescot  sketched  the  plan  for  him,  to 
which  Bullant  gave  the  last  touches ;  Ponce  made  the  orna- 
ments, such  as  the  graceful  stone  balustrade  which  runs 
above  the  facade  at  the  back ;  the  same  Italian  painters 
who  created  the  marvels  of  Fontainebleau  painted  the 
rooms  with  some  license,  which  was  the  fashion  of  the 
time,  to  the  great  indignation  of  the  affected  Sauval ;  and 
Jean  Goujon  was  its  sculptor.  The  Hotel  was  scarcely 
finished  when  M.  de  Ligneris  died,  leaving  it  to  his  son, 
who  occupied  it  from  1556  to  1578,  the  year  of  his  death. 
It  was  then  acquired  by  the  family  that  was  its  true  god- 
mother. The  widow  of  M.  de  Kernevenoy,  whose  Breton 
name  was  softened  into  that  of  Carnavalet,  and  who  had 
been  the  worthy  friend  of  Ronsard  and  Brantome,  and  a 

263 


264  PARIS 

patron  of  the  arts  and  letters,  bought  the  Hotel  for  herself 
and  her  son.  She  was  content  to  keep  it  in  all  its  splen- 
dour without  making  many  additions. 

The  Hotel  remained  in  this  family  for  a  long  time. 
M.  de  Carnavalet,  lieutenant  of  the  guards,  who  played  a 
certain  role  during  the  Fronde,  but  who  no  longer  cut  a 
fine  figure  upon  the  entrance  of  the  new  queen,  Marie- 
Therese,  on  August  26,  1660,  was  the  last  representative 
of  the  name.  Already  in  1634  he  had  sold  it  to  a  magis- 
trate from  Dauphine,  M.  d'Agaurri.  Rarely  residing  there, 
the  new  master  made  too  many  alterations. 

In  1677  Madame  de  Lillebonne  was  the  tenant.  Her 
lease  terminated  on  October  ist,  and  competitors  were  not 
lacking  to  succeed  her,  Madame  de  Sevigne  was  at  the 
head.  She  had  tried  all  the  streets  of  the  Marais,  and 
having  visited  it,  she  thought  that  this  "  Carnavalette " 
would  suit  her  to  perfection.  She  never  left  it :  she  was 
its  soul  and  she  remains  its  glory.  Above  all  that  hap- 
pened afterward,  her  name  hovers  with  a  brilliancy  that 
prevents  us  from  seeing  anything  else.  "  The  grief  of 
having  her  no  longer  is  always  fresh  to  me,"  wrote  Ma- 
dame de  Coulanges  a  year  after  her  death ;  "  too  many 
things  are  wanting  in  the  Hotel  Carnavalet."  Since  then 
there  has  ever  been  a  void  no  matter  who  came  there. 
Brunet  de  Rancy,  two  years  after  Madame  de  Sevigne, 
brought  only  his  importance  as  Farmer-General,  with  his 
ringing  gold  which  resounded  less  than  the  vanished  wit. 
Then  later  came  the  charlatans  with  their  transfusion  of 


MUSEE  CARNAVELET  265 

blood,  there  chance  placed  later  the  treasure-room  of  the 
library  where  the  Marquise  had  produced  the  most  charm- 
ing of  books  while  believing  she  was  writing  letters  only. 
The  school  of  Fonts  et  Chaussees  was  presently  established 
there,  as  if  to  level  all  that  really  remained  of  wit.  As 
good  luck  would  have  it,  a  clever  scholar,  M.  de  Prony, 
was  director,  and  Madame  de  Sevigne's  salon  might  imagine 
that  there  was  no  geometry  in  the  house.  The  last  tenants 
were  a  boarding-school  keeper  and  his  scholars,  and  I  ad- 
mit, at  least  for  the  master,  they  respected  the  dignity  of 
this  dwelling  bound  by  tradition.  M.  Verdot  has  written 
the  history  of  the  Hotel  Carnavalet;  he  has  filled  it  with 
memories  of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  and  dedicated  it  to  his 
scholars.  I  do  not  believe  he  could  ever  have  made  a 
better  lesson. 


LA  TOUR  SAINT-JACQUES 

S.  SOPHU  BE  ALE 

THIS  tower  is  all  that  remains  of  the  church  of 
Jacques  de  la  Boucherie,  which  had  to  be  de- 
molished to  make  way  for  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  It 
was  commenced  in  1508,  and  finished  in  1522.  The  figure 
of  Saint  James  upon  the  little  turret,  and  his  friends  the 
Evangelistic  animals,  by  Rauch,  were  thrown  down  in  1793; 
but  in  1836,  when  the  municipality  saved  the  tower  by 
purchasing  it,  the  statues  were  repaired  and  replaced.  The 
church  contained  many  tombs  and  slabs,  some  of  which 
have  found  a  home  in  the  Hotel  Cluny.  One  of  the  most 
famous  persons  buried  at  Saint-Jacques  was  Nicholas 
Flamel,  a  member  of  the  University,  and  librarian,  who 
died  in  141 7,  leaving  large  sums  of  money  to  the  church. 
His  effigy,  and  that  of  his  wife,  were  to  be  seen  kneeling 
at  the  Virgin's  feet  in  the  tympanum  of  the  porch.  He 
was  venerated  as  their  patron  by  the  alchemists,  for  having, 
as  was  affirmed,  discovered  the  philosopher's  stone;  and 
several  times  his  house  in  the  Rue  des  £crivains  was  rum- 
maged in  order  to  find  some  indication  of  his  secret.  His 
funeral  tablet  has  the  following  epitaph  engraven  upon  it, 
and  is  numbered  ninety-two  in  the  collection  of  the  Hotel 
Cluny  : 

266 


TOUR   SAINT-JACgUES. 


LA  TOUR  SAINT-JACQUES         267 

Feu  Nicolas  Plamel  jadix  escri 
Vain  a  laisst  par  son  testament  A 
Leusore  de  ceste  eglise  certaines 
Rentes  et  maisons  qu'  il  avoit 
Acquestees  et  acketees  d  son  vi-— 
Vant  pour  fair e  certain  service 
Divin  et  distribucions  d^ argent 
Chascun  au  par  aumosne  tou — 
Chans  les  quinze  vin  :  lostel  di 
Eu  et  aultres  Sglises  et  hopitaux 
A  Paris. — Soit  prik  pour  les  tripassies. 

The  Tour  Saint-Jacques  is  an  excellent  example  of  what 
may  be  done  with  the  remaining  portions  of  demolished 
buildings.  As  it  stands,  surrounded  by  gardens,  it  is  a  most 
beautiful  object,  an  oasis  in  the  desert  of  streets,  and 
trams,  and  omnibuses,  a  quiet  spot  where  children  may 
skirmish,  and  mothers  can  sit  in  the  open  air  and  knit  their 
stockings.  Why  cannot  we  do  likewise  in  London  ?  If 
churches  must  be  felled  to  the  ground,  why  cannot  we 
leave  their  towers  as  a  centre  to  the  burial-ground  gardens, 
or  remove  and  reerect  them  in  our  parks  ?  We  might 
with  advantage  follow  the  example  of  Paris,  both  in  the 
preservation  of  the  old  tower  of  Saint-Jacques,  and  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  garden  of  the  Hotel  Cluny,  where,  also, 
fragments  of  churches  are  set  up  as  ornaments. 

It  was  from  the  top  of  the  tower  of  Saint-Jacques  that 
Pascal  made  certain  experiments  of  the  density  of  the  air ; 
and  in  memory  of  this,  his  statue,  in  white  marble,  was 
placed  under  the  porch. 


LA  BOURSE 

GABRIEL  MOURE r 

^  W  "^HE  Bourse!     The  heart  of  modern  Paris  as  the 
Halles  are  its  stomach. 


1 


The  Bourse  !  The  cathedral  of  the  new  times, 
the  temple  of  the  sole  religion  that  truly  flourishes  and  is 
sincerely  practiced.  And  what  a  religion  !  As  savage,  as 
sanguinary  and  as  mysterious  as  the  most  barbarous  cults, 
with  its  strange  rites,  its  special  dialect,  its  sacrifices,  its 
categories  of  the  initiated  and  its  colleges  of  priests. 

The  stockbrokers  are  its  supreme  pontiffs.  The 
prestige  of  withholding  the  privilege  that  constitutes  their 
power  clothes  them  with  a  dreadful  splendour  in  the  eyes  of 
the  masses.  Everything  gravitates  into  their  light;  every- 
thing bends  before  their  majesty.  They  form  an  omnip- 
otent caste  to  whose  hands  the  fate  of  public  fortune  is  en- 
trusted. In  the  sanctuary  where  the  divinity  is  enthroned, 
they  are  priests  surrounded  with  glory,  wealth  and  pride, 
and  none  dare  attack  their  sacred  sovereignty ;  are  they  not 
the  obligatory  intermediaries  between  the  power  that  is 
adored  here  and  the  multitude  \  Could  their  intercession 
be  dispensed  with  ? 

Protected  by  strong  barriers  against  which  break  the  rage 
and  concupiscence  of  the  gold-maddened  throng,  they  exer- 
cise the  monopoly  of  their  ministry.     A  greedy  mob  whirls 

268 


LA  BOURSE  269 

around  the  sanctuary ;  the  fury  of  the  assault  surges,  yells 
and  seethes  while  the  rough  rite  is  being  accomplished. 
A  heated  clamour  mounts  into  the  air  that  reeks  of  beasti- 
ality  and  blood  and  that  is  sometimes  pierced  by  a  cry  as 
of  a  wounded  animal. 

They  themselves  in  the  enclosure  closed  to  the  profane 
writhe  in  frantic  gesticulations,  and  the  echo  that  cease- 
lessly rebounds  from  the  ceiling  of  the  vast  church  resounds 
like  a  noise  of  the  waves  at  the  equinox  and  rolls  and 
swells  like  the  unchained  fury  of  a  revolt. 

It  is  one  o'clock,  the  hour  when  Paris,  tired  after  its 
morning's  struggle, — for  Paris  rises  earlier  than  other 
capitals — is  reposing  and  stretching  itself  for  a  moment, 
that  the  worshippers  of  gold  hold  their  assembly. 

A  lull  renders  the  streets  almost  deserted ;  there  is  a 
pause  in  the  feverish  activity  of  the  Great  City ;  efforts 
slacken ;  fresh  forces  are  being  stored  up  for  the  remainder 
of  the  day.  They  come  flocking ;  they  hasten  with  avidity 
from  every  direction  5  in  the  streets  disgorging  into  the 
square  a  swarm  of  human  ants  presses  toward  the  prey. 
By  hundreds  the  great  houses  in  the  whole  neighbouring 
quarter  disgorge  them,  business  people  seeking  a  precise 
goal  at  the  precise  hour. 

The  neighbouring  restaurants  fill  up.  Appointments  are 
made  there,  consultations  are  held  there  in  freedom,  and 
there  preparations  are  made  for  the  impending  battle.  It 
has  already  commenced :  orders  are  transmitted,  tubes  are 
dispensed  with,  men  examine  one  another  face  to  face,  the 


270  PARIS 

force  of  resistance  of  each  is  estimated,  plans  are  unmasked 
and  manoeuvres  brought  into  light.  Solitary  lunchers, 
stranded  in  melancholy  before  cleared  tables,  fret  in  vain 
waiting  for  some  one  who  should  come,  and  ceaselessly 
glance  with  agony  from  the  door  to  the  clock.  Important 
personages  have  a  group  around  them  of  a  constantly  re- 
newed court  of  anxious  curiosity.  Farther  on,  two  partners 
exchange  confidences  in  low  tones.  Feverish  fingers  tear 
open  telegrams  j  from  one  table  to  another,  hastily-scribbled 
sheets  of  paper  are  exchanged. 

The  hour  is  about  to  strike  j  three  minutes  more,  time 
to  cross  the  street.  The  restaurants  are  empty  ;  late-comers 
climb  the  steps  four  at  a  time,  are  engulfed  beneath  the 
colonnade,  and  vanish  in  the  dark  holes  of  the  doors. 

The  hour  strikes  !  Cries  break  forth  up  there,  there  is 
a  sudden  roar  like  a  piece  of  artillery  which  makes  a  noise 
which  will  last  for  three  hours  without  a  moment's  pause. 

The  battle  has  begun. 

Before  entering  the  melee  let  us  cast  a  glance  at  the 
monument  which  shelters  it. 

Nothing  can  be  more  commonplace  or  ugly.  It  par- 
takes at  the  same  time  of  the  nature  of  a  desecrated  church, 
a  railway  station,  and  an  old  model  market.  It  might  also 
be  a  theatre  :  so  many  dramas  have  their  prologue  and  their 
denouement  there.  Why  not  a  hall  of  justice  ?  It  pos- 
sesses the  austerity  and  glacial  Puritanism  of  one.  On  its 
ground-plan  what  jails  might  be  established  ! 

Lugubrious    monument !     Without  the  distinction  of  a 


LA  BOURSE  271 

dome,  a  belfry,  or  a  tower,  it  is  squat  and  stupidly  mass- 
ive ;  it  crouches  heavily  and  cunningly ;  there  is  some- 
thing dubious  about  it.  A  true  temple  of  gold  should  be 
something  else  !  Sumptuous  and  excessive,  it  should  fete 
the  glory  of  the  cult  that  is  celebrated  in  it  by  a  dazzling 
harmony  of  lines,  and  by  fantastic  audacity  of  decoration. 
Facades,  glittering  with  enamels  and  mosaics,  spires  of 
precious  stones,  infinitely  multiplying  in  their  innumerable 
facets  the  solar  rays,  and  mounting  to  the  skies  bearing  the 
hymn  of  the  men  kneeling  before  the  idol !  Like  the 
Gothic  cathedral  in  which  the  ardent  soul  of  the  Middle 
Ages  is  expressed  in  all  its  intensity,  it  should  symbolize, 
glittering  and  exaggerated,  the  aspirations  of  its  time,  its 
disquietudes,  its  desires,  its  faith,  and  that  riot  of  pleasure 
that  holds  possession  of  all. 

Alas  !  I  dream  !  Such  as  it  is  the  Bourse  will  remain 
austere,  sad,  and  lacking  in  gaiety,  like  a  protest  amid  the 
elegancies  of  contemporary  Paris,  that  Paris  which  will  end 
by  being  regarded  by  the  foreigner  as  the  public  house  of 
the  universe.  For,  of  the  numerous  cities  contained  in  Paris 
the  only  one  known  is  the  city  of  pleasures  and  vice,  the 
great  hoaxer  and  the  great  skeptic  whither  come  the  provin- 
cials to  recuperate,  as  they  say,  and  the  rastaquoeres  of  the 
two  worlds  to  amuse  themselves.  But  the  others,  the 
Paris  of  work  and  economy,  the  Paris  of  charity  and  science^ 
the  city  of  humble,  proud,  and  wholesome  existences,  the 
city  of  sincere  solidarity  and  devotion,  who  explores  and 
who  knows  these  \ 


272  PARIS 

The  peristyle,  notwithstanding  the  exclusion  of  the 
coulisse — the  bete  noire  of  the  stockbrokers ! — has  lost 
nothing  of  its  animation.  Before  the  putting  in  force  of 
the  new  law,  June  30th,  1898,  a  sensational  date  in  the 
history  of  the  Bourse,  there  were  about  eighty  coulis- 
siers  I  it  is  said  that  half  of  them  went  into  exile  in  the 
land  of  Manneaeneis  and  Leopold  II.  One  would  not 
think  so  J  the  same  vociferations  that  formerly  resounded 
beneath  the  sad  colonnade  still  fill  the  square  with  their 
noise.  The  gold-mine  market  suffices  for  that,  and  the 
external  aspect  of  the  temple  of  stock-jobbing  has  remained 
the  same.  They  struggle  under  the  clock  with  the  same 
ardour  as  formerly  :  the  ^  wet-feet '  have  a  hard  life.  Exposed 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  braving  the  heavy  sum- 
mer sunshine  that  heats  the  immense  asphalt  carpet  of  the 
square  like  the  tile  in  a  furnace,  and  despising  the  gusts  of 
wind  and  rain,  they  continue  their  battle  as  roughly  as 
ever.  Mounted  on  chairs,  and  perched  upon  the  bases  of 
the  columns,  viewed  from  the  street  they  form  a  swarm 
which  is  not  lacking  in  picturesqueness.  If  they  are  mal- 
treated by  bad  weather,  at  least  in  the  moments  of  pause 
they  can  enjoy  the  clearness  and  open  air;  under  the  up- 
right columns  there  are  calm  spots  where  it  is  pleasant  to 
sit  amid  the  fresh  greenness  of  the  trees  in  summer.  Ha- 
bitues come  there,  men  who  are  disillusioned  with  specula- 
tion, men  who  have  failed,  and  men  who  are  resigned  to  the 
life  the  atmosphere  of  which  is  indispensable  to  them  as 
is  the  odour  of  the  wings  to  old  strolling-players.     They 


LA  BOURSE  273 

again  find  themselves  in  a  familiar  country,  they  follow  the 
proceedings  with  interest  and  sometimes  risk  a  stroke  pru- 
dently and  with  the  emotion  of  a  beginner.  Their  eyes 
flame  with  passions  that  have  been  long  asleep  and  sud- 
denly awake,  and  their  torpor  suddenly  vanishes. 

The  strange  beings  !  Small  annuitants  who  come  every 
day  from  the  depths  of  their  faubourg  to  tempt  the  fortune  of 
speculation,  timidly  slip  their  orders  and  then  wait,  with  that 
kind  of  pallor  on  the  face  that  we  see  on  the  countenances 
of  the  players  while  the  roulette  is  turning,  for  the  close  of 
the  Bourse;  then,  joyous  or  sad,  according  as  chance  has 
served  or  failed  them,  they  return  to  their  peaceful  apartment 
in  the  confines  of  Batignolles  or  Belleville.  Many  on  the 
retired  list  whose  pension  is  not  sufficient  for  them  to  maintain 
the  rank  worthy  of  their  past  also  come  there.  They  play 
prudently  and  are  happy  if  at  the  end  of  the  day  they  have 
succeeded  in  gaining  the  half-louis  that  will  permit  them  to 
cut  a  good  figure  at  the  interminable  cards  in  the  evening. 

And  the  margoulin  !  The  speculator  in  small  values  for 
whom  the  least  return  suffices,  perhaps  only  an  occasional 
ten  or  twelve  sous ;  but  what  matters,  to-day  he  is  operating 
here ;  to-morrow  at  some  sale  by  a  big  house  he  will  buy 
fifty  umbrellas  at  five  fr.  95  which  two  days  afterward  he 
is  sure  to  sell  at  six  fr.  50.  Will  he  have  lost  his  labour .? 
And  what  risks  will  he  have  run  ?  Is  it  not  in  tempting 
fortune  as  often  as  possible  that  one  gets  the  greatest  chance 
of  finally  beguiling  it  once  for  all  ?  And  the  ordinary  life 
of  these  men  is  supported  by  this  hope. 


274  PARIS 

The  doors  keep  swinging ;  an  incessant  going  and  com- 
ing from  the  peristyle  to  the  interior  obstructs  the  entries; 
we  must  insinuate  ourselves,  brave  audacious  elbows  and 
submit  to  impatient  pushing  in  order  to  get  into  the  great 
hall.  The  first  impression  is  that  of  feeling  ourselves 
caught  in  the  middle  of  a  crowd  after  a  catastrophe.  The 
people  have  an  air  of  seeking  help ;  they  run  about  in  all 
directions  with  nervous  gestures,  anxious  starts,  and  with 
lips  contracted  with  agony ;  it  seems  as  if  misfortune  is 
about  them.  A  sinister  atmosphere  hovers  about  and  I 
seem  to  feel  a  difficulty  in  breathing  it  without  ill  effects. 
It  is  heavy,  charged  with  animality  in  action,  brutal,  and 
dry ;  it  is  strong  to  excess.  A  special  education  of  the 
nerves  is  needed  to  endure  it :  from  this  agglomeration  of 
men,  so  powerful  an  electricity  of  instinct  emanates  that  it 
gives  one  a  kind  of  vertigo.  And  these  shouts,  these 
shouts  of  savages  around  their  booty,  these  exasperated 
vociferations,  this  tempest  of  incoherent  clamour !  For  a 
moment  it  is  a  series  of  barkings  supported  by  long  sub- 
dued roars ;  there  are  voices  that  bleat  and  others  that  bray  ; 
this  one  is  croaking,  that  one  is  yelling ;  another  hisses,  a 
thousand  others  roar,  yelpings  spread  around,  with  grunt- 
ings  and  bellowings.  Sometimes  the  sharp  cry  of  a 
wounded  animal  rises  above  the  deafening  noise  singly  or 
in  unison  :  one  would  say  that  there  was  a  burst  of  cheers  or 
that  somebody  was  suddenly  being  hooted.  Duets  are 
formed ;  the  falsetto  of  a  castrato  struggles  desperately 
against  the  deep  notes  of  a  bass ;  a  tenor  tires  his  lungs ;  a 


LA  BOURSE  275 

baritone  shouts  himself  hoarse :  some  of  them  utter  their 
note  of  attack  with  triumphal  assurance  j  we  are  amazed  to 
hear  frail  beings  with  narrow  chests  and  curved  backs  pro- 
ducing sounds  like  a  tramway-gong.  Ah !  the  dreadful 
flock  of  demoniacs !  They  are  possessed  with  the  in- 
toxication of  convulsionaries,  the  delirium  of  aissaouas,  a 
sacred  frenzy.  Thus  they  celebrate  the  worship  of  Mam- 
mon. 

Look  at  this  crowd,  its  gesticulations  and  its  eddies ;  the 
beauty  presented  by  masses  of  humanity  is  absent  from  it ; 
it  lacks  unity,  it  is  made  up  only  of  individual  interests  and 
hostile  egotisms.  However  brutal  they  may  be,  by  what- 
soever excesses  they  allow  themselves  to  be  carried  away, 
whether  true  or  false  be  the  ideal  for  the  defence  or  triumph 
of  which  they  are  marching,  popular  throngs  have  a  differ- 
ent aspect ;  there  is  a  sincerity  in  their  enthusiasm  which 
is  irresistible;  but  as  for  this  ! 

Study  those  countenances :  they  are  all  deformed  by  a 
grimace,  that  is  a  return  to  the  primitive  animality.  The 
masks  are  depressed,  and  the  brows  are  crushed  down; 
the  noses  lengthen  into  trunks,  hook  into  sharp  beaks  and 
swell  in  sniffs  of  sensuality  at  the  odour  of  the  prey  they 
scent.  The  eyes  flame  with  concupiscence ;  the  lips 
writhe  spasmodically.  All  these  faces  resemble  one  an- 
other, alas  !  The  crude  light  that  falls  from  the  glass  ceil- 
ing gives  them  a  uniformly  wan  tint  scarred  with  hard 
shadows. 

The  Semetic  type  predominates :  the  fine  flower  of  the 


276  PARIS 

Ghettos  peoples  the  Bourse.  They  bring  hither  their 
hereditary  genius  for  traffic  and  their  craft  as  experienced 
dealers  in  second-hand  goods ;  here  they  are  quite  in  their 
element,  bold  and  reflective,  tenacious  and  rapacious.  Why 
should  we  be  surprised  at  it  ?  During  the  epochs  of  male- 
diction through  which  they  passed,  the  love  of  gold  was 
their  sole  passion,  a  passion  of  redemption  without  which 
they  would  still  be  the  unclean  dogs  of  old. 

Ah  !  What  a  sad  spectacle  is  before  us,  these  human 
crowds  who,  every  day,  in  all  the  capitals  of  the  universe 
and  every  important  centre  of  the  globe,  gather  together  to 
celebrate  the  sanguinary  office  of  Mammon.  Martyrs  have 
given  their  lives,  philosophers  have  suffered  insult  and 
spitting,  spirits  of  genius  devoted  to  justice  and  liberty  have 
vowed  themselves  to  death,  men  have  struggled  their  whole 
life  long  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  mankind  and  to 
snatch  the  world  from  barbarity,  artists  and  poets  ha\'e  peo- 
pled the  churches,  the  museums  and  the  libraries  with  all 
their  dreams  in  order  to  give  to  the  nations  the  taste  for 
Beauty,  and  all  that  leads  up  to  this,  to  this  battle  of  sav- 
ages around  a  pile  of  gold,  around  spoil  torn  from  the 
labour  of  others.  The  ugliness  and  shame  of  it  is  too 
much  ! 

In  the  centre  of  the  Bourse,  connected  with  the  office  of 
the  brokers,  which  leads  into  the  Rue  Notre-Dame  des  Vic- 
toires  by  a  passage  guarded  by  barriers  and  flanked  as  if  by  four 
turrets  by  the  groups  the  Comptant,  the  Rente,  the  Exter- 
ieure  and  the  Valeurs  a  Turban,  that  is  to  say  the  Ottoman 


LA  BOURSE  277 

stocks,  the  Corbeille  is  enthroned.     It  is  the  holy  of  holies; 
it  is  a  luminous  hearth  around  which  the  crowd  of  brokers 
whirls   incessantly.     Without  the   iron  bars  that  protect  it, 
the  pontiffs'  very  lives  would  often  be  endangered,  and  it  is 
not  one  of  the  least  of  their  privileges  to  be  sheltered  from 
the  contact  and  fury  that  sometimes  reigns  in  the  heat  of 
assault.     The     coulissiers,     remisiers^    commis    d'agenis    and 
bankers   themselves    are   not   angels,   and  the  heat  of  the 
battle   sometimes   so  intoxicates  them  that  with  the  senti- 
ment of  distances  they  sometimes  lose  that  of  their  own 
dignity.     The  temple  of  Mammon  on  several  occasions  has 
witnessed  scenes  of  pugilism  that  would  have  made  the  least 
respectable   taverns  of  La  Villette  or  Montrouge  envious. 
And  what   is  there  astonishing  in  that  ?     These  people  are 
struggling  here  for  their  skins  and  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  between  them ;  between  raisers  and  depressers  it  is  war 
to  the  knife  and  one  or  other  of  them  must  be  left  on  the 
floor.     Whether  they  are  bulls  or  bears  the  victory  of  one 
must  entail  the  defeat  of  the  other.     The  bulls  have  sharp 
horns ;  the  bears  have  claws  and  teeth.     Antiquity  had  its 
gladiators  ;  the  combats  of  the  Bourse  are  neither  less  ex- 
citing  nor  less   cruel :  they  always  end  in  the  triumph  of 
Force. 

It  is  about  the  group  of  the  Comptant  that  the  agitation 
is  most  intense.  A  stranger  who  penetrates  into  it  is  im- 
mediately caught  in  the  contrary  currents,  taken  up,  carried 
away  and  torn  to  pieces  ;  at  the  end  of  a  few  moments 
nothing  remains  of  him  but  a  mannikin  with  torn  clothes, 


278  PARIS 

a  poor  tatter,  game  for  the  hospital  or  the  morgue.  How- 
ever, relative  calm  reigns  betvi^een  the  columns  and  vv^alls. 
There  is  a  discrete  tvi^ilight  there,  one  may  move  about 
there,  not  without  trouble  certainly,  but  without  running 
the  risk  of  having  one's  sides  driven  in  by  two  insistent 
elbows.  Around  the  seats  groups  form ;  this  has  a  some- 
what familiar  feeling  or  at  least  normal  in  contrast  to  the 
frenzy  of  the  centre  which,  the  more  one  watches  it,  be- 
wilders the  eyes  and  dizzies  the  mind.  One  is  affected 
gradually  by  the  whirl,  vertigo  attacks  one,  and  one  remains 
there  leaning  against  the  balustrade  in  that  state  of  semi- 
consciousness into  which  one  is  plunged  by  looking  per- 
pendicularly down  at  the  sea  from  the  top  of  a  clifF. 

At  the  end  of  the  great  hall  is  visible  through  the  win- 
dows that  separate  it  from  the  hall  itself  the  Cabinet  des 
Agents  !  Sometimes,  through  the  open  door  defended  by 
barriers  and  keepers  and  through  which  one  gains  access  to 
the  Corbeille  by  the  central  alley,  one  gets  a  glimpse  of  in- 
dividuals sunk  in  deep  armchairs,  or  leaning  their  elbows 
on  immense  tables  draped  like  catafalques.  One  thinks  of 
the  sacristy  of  a  strange  church,  the  aisles  of  a  mysterious 
worship.  It  is  never  bright ;  thick  curtains  of  a  vague  tint 
half  veil  the  windows. 

It  also  recalls  the  office  for  marriages  of  the  suburban 
mayors  with  its  ridiculous  and  superannuated  solemnity. 
Like  all  the  rest  of  the  building,  it  smells  of  the  ancient, 
the  out  of  fashion,  the  rococo;  there  is  a  feeling  of  an- 
achronism about  it. 


LA  BOURSE  279 

Along  the  alley  leading  to  the  Corbeille,  the  seven  offi- 
cial Coteurs,  employes  appointed  by  the  syndic  chamber,  are 
installed  one  behind  another  at  little  desks.  They  record 
the  incessant  fluctuations  of  the  stocks.  One  asks  how  they 
mana"-e  to  do  it  in  the  midst  of  these  vociferations  and  sur- 
rounded  by  this  group  of  the  Comptant  where  the  most 
energetic  agitation  of  the  market  is  concentrated. 

Around  the  hall,  against  the  walls,  in  the  sort  of  passage 
formed  by  the  interior  colonnade,  elevated  desks  stand.  In 
them  are  installed  the  titulaires  noting  the  orders ;  they  are 
like  a  series  of  little  offices,  or  minute  agencies  where  the 
habitues  gather. 

The  place  for  bankers  is  in  the  kind  of  large  entrance 
vestibule  lighted  from  the  front  and  gained  through  the 
constantly  revolving  doors.  Here  circulation  is  almost 
easy ;  it  is  also  light,  and  through  the  windows  one  can  see 
the  gesticulations  of  the  Coulisse  beneath  the  external 
colonnade,  with  a  prospect  of  the  square,  the  omnibus 
bureau,  the  normal  life  of  Paris  and  the  animation  which 
about  three  o'clock  is  caused  by  the  appearance  of  the  first 
evening  papers. 

High  finance  and  coulissiers,  stockbrokers  and  rem- 
isiers^  all  who  live  well  or  live  by  the  Bourse,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  public  appear  to  practice  an  exceptional  profession 
to  exercise  an  enviable  and  mysterious  rite.  The  jargon 
that  they  talk  gives  them  a  kind  of  brilliant  superiority  in 
the  eyes  of  little  people  and  of  the  poor  devils  who  wander 
around  the  grilles  that  enclose   the  temple  in  quest  of  the 


28o  PARIS 

stump  of  a  cigar  fallen  from  the  hand  of  a  broker.  Around 
a  member  of  the  Bourse  shines  a  little  of  that  radiance  that 
forms  the  aureole  that  encircles  the  brow  of  the  physician. 

Hence  arises  the  extreme  docility  of  the  ignorant  public 
seduced  by  the  mirage  of  speculation.  He  places  his  gold 
in  the  hands  of  the  intermediary  as  one  of  the  faithful 
places  his  soul  in  the  hands  of  the  priest. 

People  have  searched  for  a  name  that  will  characterize 
this  agonized  century.  There  is  only  one  that  would  de- 
fine it  in  its  inmost  soul  and  would  sum  up  its  tendencies, 
its  preoccupations,  its  efforts  and  its  manners;  it  is  the 
Century  of  Money. 

Amid  the  disorder  of  ideas,  the  anarchy  of  parties  and  the 
tumult  of  modern  life  in  its  innumerable  currents,  there  is 
only  one  rallying  cry,  Money  ;  and  the  masses  of  humanity 
enthusiastically  fraternize  in  the  presence  of  the  god  of 
modern  civilizations.  The  Bourse  of  Paris  is  one  of  the 
most  incontestable  and  formidable  of  our  forces.  How  sad 
is  the  lot  to  have  nothing  left  in  the  world  but  the  force  of 
Money  for  extending  and  conquering. 


SAINT-GERMAIN  UAUXERROIS 

S.  SOPHIA  BE  ALE 

THAT  Saint-Germanus  was  a  remarkable  man  there 
is  no  doubt ;  as  we  owe  the  discovery  of  Saint- 
Genevieve  to  his  foresight ;  for,  when  he  saw  her 
at  Nanterre,  on  his  way  to  Britain,  he  was  so  impressed  by 
her  piety  that  he  consecrated  her  to  the  service  of  God. 
The  church  in  Paris  was  probably  founded  in  commemo- 
ration of  some  miracle  performed  by  the  bishop  during  his 
sojourn  in  that  city,  perhaps  by  his  namesake  Saint-Ger- 
main of  Paris,  who  held  the  memory  of  his  brother  of 
Auxerre  in  great  esteem  and  veneration.  That  its  origin 
was  very  ancient  is  shown  by  the  record  of  certain  gifts 
from  King  Childebert  and  Queen  Ultrogothe.  It  was 
probably  a  round  church  in  its  early  days,  as  in  866,  when 
it  was  pillaged  and  destroyed  by  the  Normans,  it  was  called 
Saint-Germain-le-Rond,  and  it  must  have  been  in  that  edi- 
fice that  Saint  Landry,  bishop  of  Paris,  was  buried.  For- 
merly a  chapter  composed  of  a  dean,  a  precentor,  thirteen 
canons,  and  eleven  chaplains,  served  the  church,  and  it 
ranked  immediately  after  the  Cathedral;  but  in  1744,  its 
chapter  was  merged  into  that  of  Notre-Dame,  and  it  be- 
came a  simple  parish  church. 

Saint-Germain  was  rebuilt  by  King  Robert,  and  again  in 
the  Twelfth  Century,  to  which  period  the  tower  belongs. 

281 


282  PARIS 

The  principal  door,  the  choir,  and  the  apse  are  of  the 
Thirteenth  Century ;  the  porch,  the  greater  part  of  the 
fa^ade^  the  nave  and  aisles,  and  the  chapels  of  the  chevet^ 
are  of  the  Fifteenth  and  Sixteenth  Centuries.  The  cloister 
which  surrounded  the  church  has  disappeared,  as  also  the 
dean's  house  which  stood  in  the  space  between  the  church 
and  the  Louvre.  It  was  in  traversing  the  cloisters  of  Saint- 
Germain  that  Admiral  Coligny  was  shot,  and  it  was  the 
great  bell  of  this  church  which  gave  the  signal  for  the 
massacre  of  Saint-Bartholomew.  Saint-Germain  was  the 
parish  church  of  the  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries,  and  some 
of  the  royal  children  are  baptized  there ;  and  many  a  time 
the  kings  went  there  in  great  state  to  perform  their  paschal 
duties. 

The  portico  projects  in  front  of  the  three  principal  west 
doors,  and  is  the  work  of  Master  Jean  Gaussel.  It  was 
constructed  in  1435,  and  is  a  mass  of  very  beautiful  carving. 
Some  of  the  corbels  are  examples  of  the  grotesque  imagery 
of  the  period.  The  interior  was  decorated  with  fresco 
some  years  ago,  but  they  are  in  a  parlous,  peeling  con- 
dition. Two  of  the  statues  are  old,  Saint-Francis  of 
Assissi,  and  Saint-Mary  of  Egypt  holding  the  three  little 
loaves  which  nourished  her  in  the  desert.  The  central 
doorway  is  of  the  Thirteenth  Century,  the  two  side  ones 
are  of  the  Fifteenth.  The  whole  is  decorated  with  statues 
of  various  Saints — amongst  others,  Saint-Germain,  Saint- 
Vincent  and  Saint-Genevieve  holding  her  candle,  which  a 
hideous  little  demon   is  trying  to  extinguish.     Round  the 


SAINT-GERMAIN  L'AUXERROIS    283 

Tympanum,  the  subject  of  which  is  the  Last  Judgment, 
are  the  Wise  and  Foolish  Virgins,  the  Apostles  and  the 
Martyrs.  The  gargoyles  are  peculiarly  grotesque :  a 
grinning  savage  is  being  ejected  from  the  jaws  of  a 
hippopotamus ;  a  man  carries  a  hooded  ape  on  his 
shoulders;  and  a  showman  is  making  a  monkey  dance.  A 
corbel  shows  us  a  quantity  of  rats  persecuted  by  a  cat — the 
rats  being  the  wicked  who  encumber  the  earth;  the  cat,  the 
demon  who  awaits  their  souls. 

The  plan  of  the  church  is  cruciform ;  the  entire  length 
is  240  feet,  and  the  width  at  the  transepts  120  feet.  The 
interior  is  very  plain,  that  is  to  say,  what  remains  of  the 
old  church  after  the  embellishments  of  the  renovating 
architects  of  1745.  These  gentlemen  fluted  the  pillars  of 
the  choir,  and  converted  the  mouldings  of  the  capitals  into 
garlands  and  flowery  festoons,  giving  the  whole  a  grandly 
classic  appearance.  Happily  they  left  the  arches  pointed, 
instead  of  filling  them  in  with  round-headed  ones  as  at 
Saint-Severin ;  and,  likewise,  we  may  be  thankful  that  the 
nave  was  not  "  improved,"  and  that  the  bosses  and  the 
ornament  of  the  Lady  Chapel  were  allowed  to  remain  in 
their  primitive  beauty. 

In  1744  the  choir  was  enclosed  by  a  magnificent  screen, 
the  combined  work  of  Pierre  Lescot  and  Jean  Goujon ;  but 
the  cure  and  churchwardens,  upon  the  suppression  of  the 
chapter,  lost  no  time  in  destroying  this  work  of  art,  in 
order  to  open  up  the  east  end  of  the  church  to  the  congre- 
gation— not  the  only  case  of  its  kind. 


284  PARIS 

Had  the  modern  improvers  of  the  church  only  pulled 
this  down  they  might  have  been  forgiven,  but  they  did  not 
rest  until  they  had  appointed  an  architect  named  Bacarit  to 
"purify"  the  church  of  its  '■'•  barbarie  Gothique."  Un- 
fortunately for  the  reputation  of  the  academicians  of  1745, 
the  project  submitted  to,  and  approved  by  them,  appears  to 
us,  so  far  as  it  vi^as  carried  out,  to  be  a  decided  barbarie 
Classique ;  and  even  in  the  beginning  of  this  century,  when 
the  empire  had  introduced  a  sort  of  pseudo-Classic  style, 
and  made  it  fashionable,  people  of  taste  were  no  less  severe 
upon  the  redressing  of  the  old  pillars  and  capitals  in  Greek 
garments." 

The  chapels  of  the  chevet  have  niches  in  the  wall  sur- 
mounted by  round-headed  arches,  and  containing  statues. 
There  are  in  all  thirteen  chapels,  but  four  of  them  have 
been  converted  into  a  sacristy  and  the  north  door,  the 
exterior  of  which  is  a  good  specimen  of  Renaissance 
work. 

The  Abbe  Lebeuf  attributed  some  of  the  glass  of  the  choir 
to  the  commencement  of  the  Fourteenth  Century,  but  not 
a  vestige  of  this  remains ;  there  is  nothing  earlier  than  the 
two  following  centuries.  Here  also  the  good  gentlemen  of 
the  Eighteenth  Century  "  improved  "  much ;  the  church 
was  dark  and  gloomy,  and  so,  forsooth,  the  stained  glass  of 
the  nave  was  taken  out,  and  the  colour,  and  the  golden 
fleurs-de-lis  of  the  vaults  and  columns  were  scraped  off  or 
washed  over.  Thus  was  lost  the  history  of  Saint-Germain 
which  formed  the  subject  of  the  windows.     But  happily  the 


SAINT-GERMAIN  L'AUXERROIS    285 

rose-windows  of  the  two  transepts,  four  lights  in  the  south 
aisle  and  two  on  the  north  aisle,  still  remain ;  but  these 
being  only  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  are  consequently  not 
in  the  best  taste.  Some  have  Gothic  and  some  Renaissance 
surroundings,  but  the  colour  is,  if  rather  bright,  clear  and 
rich.  Unfortunately,  time  has  obliterated  many  of  the 
heads  and  hands  ;  but  enough  remains  to  make  out  the  sub- 
jects. In  the  north  rose  the  Eternal  Father,  in  Papal  tiara, 
is  surrounded  by  Angels,  Cherubim,  Martyrs,  and  Con- 
fessors ;  amongst  whom  may  be  recognized  Saints  Cath- 
erine, Vincent,  Margaret,  Agnes,  Martha,  Germain,  and 
King  Louis.  Above  and  below  are  the  four  Fathers  of  the 
Latin  church.  In  the  north  transept  the  subjects  are  taken 
from  the  Passion,  The  Acts  of  our  Lord,  Scenes  in  the  life 
of  the  Patriarch  Abraham,  a  gentleman  donor  accompanied 
by  his  sons,  and  a  lady  followed  by  her  daughters,  a  Saint- 
Peter,  and  Saint-Anne  instructing  her  daughter,  and  patron- 
izing another  donor.  In  the  southern  rose,  the  Holy  Spirit 
descends  from  Heaven  in  the  form  of  a  dove  ;  the  Blessed 
Virgin  and  the  Apostles  receiving  light  from  above,  with 
enthusiastic  expressions  upon  their  visages.  In  the  southern 
transept :  The  Incredulity  of  Saint  Thomas ;  The  Ascen- 
sion ;  The  Death  of  the  Virgin  ;  and  The  Assumption. 
Above,  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin  and  a  well,  recalling 
the  attribute  "  Well  of  living  water  "  given  to  her  by  the 
Fathers.  There  are  a  great  many  modern  windows,  but 
except  those  in  imitation  of  the  glass  in  the  Saint-Chapelle, 
by   MM.    Lassus    and    Didron,  they   are   of  little   artistic 


286  PARIS 

value.     M.  Lassus  was  the  architect  who  superintended  all 
the  later  restorations  and  decorations. 

The  chapel  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  a  little  church  in 
itself,  with  stalls,  organ,  pulpit,  screen  and  altar,  all  richly 
decorated.  The  reredos  is  the  tree  of  Jesse  which  sur- 
rounds the  Virgin  with  its  branches.  This  is  in  stone,  of 
the  Fourteenth  Century,  and  comes  from  a  church  in 
Champagne.  Some  restorations  in  1838  brought  to  light  a 
curious  Sixteenth  Century  wall  painting,  representing  a 
cemetery  with  the  graves  giving  up  their  dead  to  the  sound 
of  the  angels'  trumpets.  Three  statues  were  also  found  of 
the  same  date  as  the  chapel,  and  serve  as  the  retable  of  the 
altar :  they  represent  the  Blessed  Virgin  sitting,  and  Saint- 
Germain  and  Saint-Vincent  (who  are  united  in  all  the 
decorations  of  this  church),  standing  on  each  side  of  her. 
The  banc-d' auvre  was  executed  in  1646  by  Mercier,  from 
drawings  by  Lebrun.  It  is  handsome  in  its  way,  and 
excellently  carved,  but  utterly  out  of  keeping  with  the  rest 
of  the  church.  It  is  composed  of  Ionic  columns  supporting 
a  huge  baldachino ;  and  probably  looked  its  best  when  it  was 
filled  with  royal  personages  on  high  festivals  and  state 
occasions.  Another  exquisite  example  of  wood  carving 
may  be  seen  in  the  chapel  of  Notre-Dame  de  Compassion, 
forming  the  retable.  It  belongs  to  the  latest  Gothic  period, 
and  i"s  covered  with  a  multitude  of  figures,  representing  the 
Genealogy  and  History  of  the  Virgin  and  the  Life  and  Death 
of  Christ.     This  came  from  a  Belgian  church.     The  organ, 


SAINT-GERMAIN  L'AUXERROIS    287 

pulpit,  and  stall  are  part  of  the  old   furniture,  but  are  not 
remarkable  in  any  way. 

Saint-Germain  was  formerly  a  museum  of  tombs  of  the 
Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries ;  but  the  only  remain- 
ing ones  are  the  recumbent  figures  by  Laurent  Magnier,  of 
Etienne  d'Aligre,  and  his  sons,  both  chancellors  of  France, 
who  died  respectively  in  1635  and  1677;  two  statues  and 
several  marble  busts  which  belonged  to  the  mausoleums  of 
the  house  of  Rostaing,  formerly  situated  in  Saint-Germain, 
and  in  a  chapel  of  the  monastery  of  the  Feuillants ;  and  an 
epitaph  of  a  lady  of  Mortemart,  Duchess  of  Lesdiguieres, 
who  died  in  1740.  Under  the  church  is  a  crypt  full  of 
bones,  symmetrically  arranged  as  in  the  catacombs :  it  was 
excavated  in  1746-7  as  a  burial-place  for  the  parishioners. 

Amongst  the  tombs  of  a  crowd  of  courtiers  and  states- 
men were  those  of  Malherbe,  the  poet ;  Andre  Dacier,  the 
savant ;  the  painters  Coypel,  Houasse,  Stella,  and  Santerre  ; 
the  sculptors  Sarazin,  Desjardins,  and  Coyzevox ;  the  med- 
allist Warin ;  the  goldsmith  Balin ;  the  engraver  Israel 
Sylvestre  ;  the  architects  Louis  Levau  and  Francois  Dorbay ; 
the  geographer  Sanson  j  and  the  Comte  de  Caylus,  the  dis- 
tinguished antiquary;  but  they  have  all  disappeared.  The 
grandest  tomb  was  that  erected  by  Charles  V.  to  his  jester. 
But  even  in  the  time  of  Sauval  this  curious  work  of  art  was 
no  more. 

A  few  fragments  of  former  monuments  have  found  a 
quiet  resting-place  in  the  Louvre,  in  the  Renaissance 
Museum,     Calvin  lived  near  Saint-Germain ;   and  at  the 


288  PARIS 

dean's  house,  between  the  Louvre  and  the  church,  a  celeb- 
rity of  another  kind  died  suddenly  on  Easter-Eve,  1599 
— "/«  belle  Gabrielle  d'Estr'ees."  The  Marecha  Id'Ancre 
(Concini)  was  also  buried  at  Saint-Germain  after  his  assas- 
sination ;  but  the  body  was  torn  from  the  grave  the  next 
day  by  an  infuriated  mob,  who  drew  it  through  the  street 
on  hurdles,  then  hung  it,  and  finally  burnt  it. 


THE  CAFE 

THEODORE  DE  BAKVILLE 

IMAGINE  a  spot  where  you  do  not  suffer  the  horror 
of  being  alone,  and  where,  nevertheless,  you  are  as 
free  as  if  in  solitude.  There,  disembarrassed  of  the 
dust,  the  weariness,  and  the  vulgarities  of  housekeeping, 
you  dream  at  your  ease,  comfortably  seated  before  a  table 
not  incumbered  by  all  that  forcibly  oppresses  you  in  your 
houses ;  for  if  any  useless  objects  or  papers  became  piled 
up  there,  you  would  have  soon  taken  care  to  have  them 
removed.  You  smoke  slowly  and  tranquilly  like  a  Turk, 
following  your  ideas  through  the  blue  spirals. 

If  It  is  your  pleasure  to  enjoy  some  warm  or  refreshing 
beverage,  well-appointed  servants  bring  it  to  you  immedi- 
ately. If  it  pleases  you  to  converse  with  men  of  intelli- 
gence who  will  not  tyrannize  over  .you,  you  have  at  hand 
light  leaves,  upon  which  are  printed  winged  and  rapid 
thoughts,  written  for  you  and  which  you  will  not  be  forced 
to  have  bound  for  preservation  in  a  library  when  they  have 
ceased  to  please  you.  This  spot,  the  paradise  of  civiliza- 
tion, the  last  and  inviolable  refuge  of  the  free  man,  is  the 
Cafe. 

It  is  the  Cafe,  but  an  ideal  one,  such  as  we  dream  of  and 
such  as  it  should  be.  The  lack  of  space  and  the  fabulous 
price  of  land  on  the  boulevards  of  Paris  in  reality  make  it 

289 


290  PARIS 

hideous.  In  these  little  boxes,  the  rent  of  which  equals 
that  of  a  palace,  a  man  would  be  foolish  to  hunt  for  a 
cloak-room.  Therefore  the  walls  are  decorated  with  stove- 
pipe hats  and  with  overcoats  hung  on  hooks,  an  abominable 
effect  which  they  try  to  counterbalance  by  lavish  use  of 
white  panels  and  ignoble  gilding,  imitated  by  economic 
processes. 

Moreover,  do  not  let  us  deceive  ourselves,  the  overcoat 
which  we  never  know  what  to  do  with,  and  which  is 
always  a  source  of  anxiety  to  us,  in  the  world,  at  the 
theatre,  and  at  fetes,  constitutes  the  great  burden  and  the 
abominable  slavery  of  modern  life.  Happy  for  the  nobles 
of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  who  dressed  themselves  in  the 
morning  for  the  whole  day,  the  brow  protected  by  a  wig, 
clothed  in  satin  and  velvet  which,  even  when  beaten  by 
the  storm,  remains  superb ;  and  who,  moreover,  as  brave  as 
lions,  risked  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  when  they  put  on 
one  above  the  other  the  innumerable  vests  of  Jodelet,  in 
Les  Precieuses  ridicules  ! 

How  shall  I  find  my  overcoat  and  my  wife's  wrap  is  the 
great  and  universal  cry,  the  monologue  of  Hamlet  and  of 
•  the  modern  man,  which  poisons  every  moment  of  his  life 
and  makes  the  thought  of  death  supportable  to  him.  On 
the  morning  of  a  fete  given  by  Marshal  MacMahon,  noth- 
ing could  be  found,  the  overcoats  had  evaporated,  the 
mantles  of  satin  and  swan's-down,  and  the  lace  fichus  had 
vanished  in  smoke,  and,  under  the  snow  which  was  falling 
in  thick  flakes,  the  women  had  to  flee  wildly,  bare-shoul- 


THE  CAFE  291 

dered,  while  their  husbands  tried  to  button  up  their  black 
dress-coats  which  would  not  button. 

One  evening  at  a  fete  given  by  the  President  of  the 
Chambre  des  Deputes,  when  the  gardens  were  illuminated 
with  the  electric  lights,  Gambetta  suddenly  wanted  to  show 
some  of  his  guests  some  curiosity  or  other.  He  invited 
them  to  descend  with  him  into  the  groves.  A  valet  has- 
tened and  quickly  brought  him  an  overcoat ;  but  the  guests 
did  not  dare  to  ask  for  theirs  and  followed  Gambetta  into 
the  gardens  in  evening-dress  !  I  think,  however,  that  one 
or  two  of  them  survived. 

At  the  Cafe  no  one  takes  the  overcoats,  no  one  conceals 
them;  but  they  are  hung  up  and  displayed  on  the  walls  like 
pictures  by  great  masters ;  they  are  treated  like  the  portraits 
of  La  Joconde  or  Violante,  and  you  have  this  before  your 
eyes,  you  incessantly  see  it.  Have  you  not  some  cause  to 
curse  the  moment  when  your  eyes  saw  the  light  for  the  first 
time  ?  As  I  have  said,  one  can  read  the  papers ;  that  is  to 
say  one  might  read  them  if  they  were  not  fixed  in  those 
abominable  frames  that  set  them  a  mile  away  from  you  and 
force  you  to  see  them  on  the  horizon. 

As  for  the  beverages,  abandon  all  hope ;  for  the  master 
of  the  Cafe  lacks  room  to  prepare  them,  and  he  pays  too 
enormous  a  rent  not  to  be  forced  to  make  up  by  the 
quality  of  what  he  sells.  But  even  if  this  reason  did  not 
exist,  people  drink  too  many  things  there  for  them  to  be 
good,  and  what  one  finds  least  of  all  in  the  Cafe  is  coffee  ! 
It  is  delicious  and  divine  in  the  little  oriental  shops  where 


292  PARIS 

it  is  made  specially  for  each  customer  at  the  moment  in  a 
little  special  cofFee-pot.  As  for  syrups,  how  should  there 
be  any  in  Paris,  and  in  what  chimerical  spot  should  one 
range  the  jars  containing  the  fruit-juices  necessary  for  their 
manufacture  ?  A  few  real  ladies,  rich,  well-born,  and  good 
managers,  who  have  not  been  reduced  to  slavery  by  the  big 
shops,  and  who  put  neither  rouge  nor  cosmetic  on  their 
cheeks,  still  know  at  home  in  the  country  how  to  make 
good  syrups  with  the  fruits  from  their  gardens  and  orchards. 
They  neither  give  nor  sell  them  to  the  cafes,  naturally,  and 
keep  them  for  the  enjoyment  of  their  little  golden-haired 
children. 

Such  as  it  is,  with  all  its  faults  and  vices,  and  even  a  full 
century  after  the  celebrity  of  Procope,  the  Cafe,  the 
memories  of  which  we  cannot  suppress,  has  been  the  asylum 
and  refuge  of  many  charming  spirits.  The  old  Tabourey, 
which,  after  having  been  illustrious,  has  now  become  semi- 
popular,  with  a  pewter  counter,  formerly  heard  the  de- 
lightful conversations  between  Barbey  d'Aurevilly,  for 
whose  presence  the  noblest  salons  disputed;  and  who 
sometimes  preferred  to  converse  seated  at  the  marble  table 
in  a  room  whence  could  be  seen  the  foliage  and  flower-beds 
of  the  Luxembourg.  Baudelaire  also  talked  there,  with  his 
clear  and  caressing  voice,  letting  fall  diamonds  and  pearls 
from  his  beautiful  red,  though  somewhat  thick,  lips  like  the 
princess  in  the  fairy  tale. 

Long  ago,  in  the  Rue  de  I'Ancienne-Comedie,  the  Cafe 
Dagnaux  belonged  to  an  original  person  who  valued  the 


THE  CAFE  293 

joys  of  the  mind  above  everything.     It  v^^as  in  the  mytho- 
logical and  vanished    period   of  Bohemia.     This  disinter- 
ested   proprietor  gave   up  an  enormous   room   to   amiable 
young  people  who  did  not  own  a  sou^  and  who,  therefore, 
did  not  spend  anything,  but  who,  with  inexhaustible  spright- 
liness,    exchanged   joyous    speeches.      Among    them   were 
Miirger,  Wallon,  Pierre  Dupont  with  his  fair  Apollo  locks, 
and  others,  besides,  and,  almost  always,  two  or  three  pretty 
girls  who,  unlike  Chrysale,  cared  less  about  good  soup  than 
about  fine  language  and  found  themselves  to  their  wishes. 
While  the  prodigious  protechnics,  the  dazzling  images  and 
the  conflagration  of  words  and  phrases  were  burning,  some- 
times the  master  of  the  Cafe  timidly  stole  to  the  door  of 
the  room  without  making  any  noise  and  greedily  listened. 
Oh,  age  of  Astraea !  that  was  his  way  of  collecting  payment. 
At  the  old  Cafe  of  the  Theatre-Fran^ais,  before  its  trans- 
formation, already  ancient,  like  a  white  and  gold  honhonniere^ 
the  habitues  might  admire  the  great  critic  Gustave  Planche 
writing,   on  a  green   board    used  by  the  card-players,  his 
murderous  articles,  whose  victims  are  still  in  good  health, 
or  have  died  of  something  else.     Inspired  or  furious,  he 
was  superb,  with  his  noble  head  of  a  Roman  emperor  and 
his    beautiful    smile,    but   he    was    always    uncombed    and 
through  his  gaping  shirt  his  black  hairy   breast  could  be 
seen.     For  Planche  made  the  weak  troop  of  mortals  trem- 
ble, but  he  never  had   studs  in  his  shirt  except  when  the 
great  Buloz  imperiously  ordered  him  to  put  on  clean  things 
to  dine  with  foreign  diplomats. 


294  PARIS 

On  the  contrary,  it  was  in  the  fine  dress  of  an  elegant 
poet  that  Louis  Bouilhet,  with  his  moustache  and  his  long 
hair  of  a  Gallic  chieftain,  wrote  his  dramas  in  verse  in  a 
little  Cafe  in  the  Rue  Taranne.  As  he  was  handsome, 
with  strength,  boldness,  and  kindness  whilst  writing  his 
proud  Alexandrienes,  the  mistress  of  the  Cafe  spent  her 
time  in  watching  him  with  respectful  curiosity.  The  wait- 
ers, who  also  admired  him,  conquered  and  stupefied,  com- 
pletely forgot  or  rather  disdained  to  serve  the  other  people. 
So  much  so,  that  the  disappointed  customers  did  not  come 
again  and  abandoned  the  quiet  little  Cafe  to  Louis  Bouilhet 
and  his  glorious  copy.  Alas  !  They  had  every  chance  to 
return  and  resume  their  old  places,  for  the  Norman  poet 
died  too  young,  when  he  still  might  have  written  so  many 
beautiful  odes  and  comedies. 

A  problem  that  has  no  possible  solution  holds  the  Parisian 
artists  and  writers  in  check.  When  one  has  energetically 
worked  and  hewn  all  through  the  day,  during  the  little 
stroll  before  dinner  it  is  good  to  sit  down  for  an  instant  and 
find  one's  friends  and  talk  with  them  about  everything  but 
politics.  The  only  place  favourable  for  these  improvised 
and  necessary  gatherings  is  the  Cafej  but  is  the  game 
worth  the  candle,  or,  more  exactly  speaking,  the  shaded  gas- 
lights ?  For  the  pleasure  of  exchanging  a  few  words  must 
one  submit  to  the  criminal  absinthes,  the  unnatural  bitters, 
the  tragic  vermouths  mixed  in  the  sombre  laboratories  of 
the  Cafes  by  frightful  Locustas? 

Aurolien  SchoU,  who,  as  a  delicate  poet  and  an  excellent 


THE  CAFE  295 

writer,  is  naturally  a  practical  man,  had  a  genial  idea.  He 
desired  a  continuation  of  the  gatherings  in  the  Cafes  at  the 
absinthe  hour,  but  without  the  absinthe.  A  very  honest 
man,  who  was  to  have  been  chosen  expressly  for  the  pur- 
pose would  have  poured  out  for  the  loungers  some  very 
fine  Bordeaux  wine  with  quinquina,  which  would  have  the 
double  advantage,  first  of  not  poisoning  them,  and,  secondly, 
of  offering  them  a  wholesome  and  comforting  beverage. 
But  this  seductive  dream  has  not  been  realized ;  for  cer- 
tainly honest  men  exist  in  large  numbers  among  the  Cafe- 
owners  as  in  other  industries ;  but  the  honest  man  has  not 
been  found — particularly  one  vv'ho  would  procure  quinquina 
wine  in  which  there  was  both  wine  and  quinquina. 

At  the  Palais-Royal  there  was  a  Cafe  that  had  preserved 
its  decorations  of  the  empire  and  its  oil-lights.  There 
one  found  real  wine,  real  coffee,  real  milk,  and  good  beef- 
steak. There  used  to  lunch  Roqueplan,  Arsene  Houssaye, 
Michel  Levy,  and  a  handsome  Fiorentino,  who  knew  how 
to  make  and  serve  him  morilles.  The  master  of  the  Cafe 
said  that  on  the  day  when  he  could  no  longer  live  by  sell- 
ing genuine  things,  he  would  not  lose  his  money  but  he 
would  sell  his  furniture  and  shut  up  shop.  He  did  it  as  he 
said  he  would.     He  was  a  hero. 


THE  LOUVRE 

CHARLES  DICKENS,  JR. 

THE  word  Louvre.,  according  to  one  definition,  comes 
from  an  old  Saxon  word  Louvear.,  which  signified 
a  castle  ;  or  it  has  been  derived  from  Loupara 
{louverie).,  from  lupus.,  because  wolves  were  common  in  the 
woods  where  the  palace  now  stands.  Dagobert,  king  of  the 
Franks  in  the  first  half  of  the  Seventh  Century,  used  to 
lodge  here  his  hunting-dogs,  his  horses,  and  his  huntsmen. 
The  place,  such  as  it  was,  long  continued  as  a  hunting-seat 
near  to  Paris  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine.  About  1204, 
Philip  Augustus  built  a  fortress  here,  which  served  partly  as 
palace  and  partly  as  prison.  Probably  before  that  time  there 
had  been  a  residential  castle  of  some  kind.  Charles  V., 
about  1370,  improved  the  Louvre;  and  extended  the  forti- 
fications encircling  Paris  so  as  to  make  the  palace  come 
within  the  walls.  It  was  there  he  lived  when  in  Paris,  and 
there  also  he  placed  his  library  of  nine  hundred  and  ten 
volumes.  In  1528  Francois  I.  caused  the  whole  castle  to 
be  pulled  down,  and  ordered  Pierre  Lescot  to  build  a  palace 
suitable  for  a  king  of  France.  By  slow  degrees  the  build- 
ing progressed  under  different  kings.  After  the  death  of 
Henri  II.,  his  widow,  Catherine  de  Medici,  in  1564,  began 
Le  Palais  des  Tuileries.     Catherine  also  extended  the  walls 

of  the  Louvre  on  the  south  side.      Henri  IV.  added  to  the 

296 


-STOC  ■  •  •  ■ 


^, 


THE  LOUVRE  297 

Tuileries,  and  he  conceived  the  idea  of  joining  the  Tuileries 
and  the  Louvre  together,  so  as  to  form  one  whole  palace, 
but  his  project  was  not  realized  until  very  many  years  after- 
ward. Louis  XIIL  also  added  to  the  Louvre,  and  so  did 
Louis  XIV.  The  most  remarkable  part  of  the  work  that 
was  added  under  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  is  the  great  col- 
onnade facing  the  east,  in  front  of  the  Eglise  Saint-Germain 
I'Auxerrois  between  the  Seine  and  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  and 
standing  at  right  angles  with  them  both.  This  was  designed 
by  Claude  Perrault.  In  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  was  also 
constructed  the  greater  part  of  the  north  and  the  south  sides 
of  the  Cour  du  Louvre — that  is,  the  sides  facing  the  Rue 
de  Rivoli  on  the  north  and  the  Seine  on  the  south.  In  the 
Eighteenth  Century  little  progress  was  made;  but  in  1805 
Napoleon  restored  and  completed  the  great  courtyard,  and 
to  him  are  due  nearly  all  the  interior  constructions  ;  for 
until  then,  except  in  one  corner  of  the  building,  the  palace 
contained  little  but  the  outside  walls.  Napoleon's  work 
went  on  until  18 14,  and  from  that  time  until  Napoleon  III. 
became  emperor  of  France  no  important  fresh  additions  or 
improvements  were  made.  In  1852  the  work  was  again 
begun,  and  proceeded  very  rapidly.  To  Napoleon  III. 
must  be  given  the  honour  of  joining  together  the  Louvre 
with  the  Tuileries.  Over  the  Pavilion  Sully,  on  the  side 
facing  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  there  is  a  marble  slab  upon 
which  is  written  : 

1 541.  Francois  I.  began  the  Louvre. 

1564.  Catherine  de  Medici  began  the  Tuileries. 


298  PARIS 

1852-57.  Napoleon  III.  joined  together  the  Tuileries 
and  the  Louvre. 

We  may  with  tolerable  accuracy  draw  a  line  between  the 
two  palaces,  and  say  that  the  buildings  on  the  east  side  of 
the  gateways,  through  which  the  omnibuses  and  carriages 
pass  on  the  north  and  on  the  south  sides  of  the  Place  du 
Carrousel,  belong  to  the  Louvre,  and  on  the  west  side  of 
these  gateways  to  the  Tuileries.  We  sometimes  see  in 
books  the  expression  "  Le  vieux  Louvre,"  or  "  The  old 
Louvre  "  ;  by  this  is  meant  the  square  courtyard  now  called 
La  Cour  du  Louvre.  It  was  in  the  southwest  corner  of  this 
square  that  stood  the  old  tower  or  prison  built  by  Philip 
Augustus,  and  restored  by  Charles  V.  In  speaking  of  the 
Place  du  Carrousel  it  is  said  that  as  late  as  1830  buildings 
were  still  standing  upon  the  site  of  the  present  large  Place. 
And  we  may  argue  that  the  design  of  Henri  IV.  to  unite 
the  Louvre  with  the  Tuileries  was  considered  as  affecting 
only  the  south  side,  or  the  side  near  to  the  river ;  for  be- 
tween the  two  palaces,  in  the  year  1604,  was  constructed 
the  large  house  known  as  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  from 
which  was  taken  the  name  of  that  celebrated  coterie  of 
friends  who  used  to  meet  there  more  or  less  frequently  in 
the  room  that  was  always  known  as  "/^  salon  bleu.'"  The 
house  is  always  spoken  of  as  being  in  the  Rue  Saint-Thomas 
du  Louvre,  a  street  that  ran  from  north  to  south  across 
which  we  now  call  the  Place  du  Carrousel.  To  join  to- 
gether on  both  sides  the  Louvre  with  the  Tuileries,  leaving 
a  large  open   space  between  them,  such  as  we  now  see,  was 


THE  LOUVRE  299 

probably  not  then  considered  for  a  moment ;  for  besides  the 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet  there  was  more  than  one  other  large 
private  house  that  from  its  position  would  have  interfered 
with  such  a  scheme,  and  there  was  also  the  old  hospital, 
Les  Ouinze  Vingts,  that  stood  directly  between  the  two 
royal  palaces. 

Having  very  briefly  sketched  the  history  of  the  building 
itself,  let  us  resume  shortly  some  of  the  treasures  to  be 
found  in  the  palace.  It  was  Francois  I.  who  first  began  to 
collect  those  works  of  art  that  we  now  see  in  the  Louvre. 
They  had  for  many  years  before  been  kept  at  Fontaine- 
bleau.  Until  Colbert  became  Louis  XIV.'s  minister  in 
166 1  little  was  added.  Colbert  appointed  Lebrun  director 
of  the  Louvre,  and  until  the  close  of  the  Seventeenth 
Century  pictures  were  bought,  though  many  of  them  were 
intended  to  decorate  the  royal  apartments  at  Versailles.  At 
difFerent  times  in  the  Eighteenth  Century  purchases  were 
made,  and  in  1791  the  Constituent  Assembly  ordered  that 
the  Louvre  should  be  the  general  depot  of  all  the  master- 
pieces of  science  and  art.  In  1793  the  collection  received 
the  name  Musee  National,  and  afterwards  Musee  Fran- 
^ais.  There  were  then  five  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
pictures.  The  greater  number  of  pictures  now  in  the 
galleries  have  therefore  been  acquired  since  the  commence- 
ment of  the  present  centur)^  Napoleon  I.  added  many. 
There  was  a  large  civil  list  allowed  for  the  purchase  of 
pictures,  and  when  Napoleon  III.  came  to  the  throne  he 
placed  the  museum  under  the  direction  of  a  minister  of  state. 


PLACE  DU  CARROUSEL 

MJRQUIS  DE  MONTEREJU 

THE  Place  du  Carrousel  is  the  link  between  the 
Louvre  and  the  Tuileries,  the  absolute  monarchy 
and  the  constitutional  government.  Across  this 
square  the  whole  of  Europe  has  passed,  we  may  read  in 
letters  of  blood  the  entire  political  history  of  France  since 
Louis  XIV.  And  what  a  history,  great  heaven  !  Interro- 
gate the  guests  of  the  Tuileries ;  ask  the  oldest  inhabitants 
of  the  palace ;  there  is  not  one  who  would  not  tremblingly 
repeat  this  couplet  of  our  illustrious  Beranger : 

Foil!  des  mecontents  ! 
Comme  balayeuse  on  me  loge, 

Depuis  quarante  ans, 
Dans  le  chateau  pres  de  Vhorloge. 

Or,  vies  enfafits,  sachez 

Que  Id,  pour  mes  pechis, 
Du  coin  </'  ou  le  soir  je  ne  bouge, 

jfai  vu  le  petit  honune  rouge. 

The  little  red  man  is  the  sole  historiographer  of  the 
Place  du  Carrousel,  as  Chodruc-Duclos  is  the  true  chron- 
icler of  the  Palais-Royale. 

Vous  figurez-vous 
Ce  diable  habille  d'icarlate, 

Bossu,  louche  et  roux  ; 
Un  serpent  ltd  serf  de  cravate  ; 

11  a  le  nez  crochu  ; 

II  a  le  pied  four  chu  ; 
Su  voix  ratique  en  chantant  prisage 

Au  ch&teau  grand  renin'' -vihtage. 
300 


PLACE  DU  CARROUSEL  301 

Does  not  this  allegorical  demon  affect  you  like  an  evil 
prognostication?  He  is  the  evil  augur  of  political  my- 
thology, and  so  we  find  him  appearing  for  the  first  time  at 
the  majority  of  Louis  XIV.,  under  the  trees  in  Mile,  de 
Montpensier's  garden;  he  was  the  genius  of  revolution 
who  breathed  the  spirit  of  rebellion  into  that  ardent  and 
passionate  soul.  The  apparition  of  the  little  red  man 
always  preceded  some  great  catastrophe ;  this  time  he  an- 
nounced the  Fronde,  and  the  stone  blocks  of  the  day  of 
the  Barricades  soon  served  to  pave  the  Place  du  Carrousel. 

Until  that  time,  this  vast  and  waste  space,  situated  be- 
tween the  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries,  had  been  a  mere  miry 
desert  full  of  sewers  and  sloughs ;  you  might  go  there  but 
could  not  be  sure  of  returning.  When  Mile,  de  Mont- 
pensier  came  into  the  world,  if  we  may  believe  a  con- 
temporary poet,  this  swamp  suddenly  changed  into  a  bed 
of  flowers :  in  that  happy  century  of  gallantry  and  fine 
language,  madrigals  flourished  in  the  open  field;  may 
not  Mademoiselle's  garden  have  seen  some  of  them  spring 
to  life?  However  that  may  be,  until  1655  beautiful  trees, 
green  sward  and  rare  flowers  usurped  the  place  of  paving- 
stones  ;  nothing  but  the  omnipotent  will  of  the  great  king 
was  needed  to  substitute  nature  for  nothingness.  It  is 
true  that  that  king  had  adopted  the  sun  as  an  emblem,  and 
what  could  gardens  do  against  the  sun's  will  ?  Besides, 
did  not  Louis  XIV.  select  this  place  as  the  theatre  of  one 
of  those  splendid  pta  that  inaugurated  his  reign,  the  name 
of  which  served  as  a  baptism  for  the  Place  du  Carrousel  ? 


302  PARIS 

In  that  pte^  the  king  himself  appeared  costumed  as  Caesar, 
although  wearing  an  enormous  wig,  to  play  a  part  in 
public  ;  he  led  the  Quadrille  of  the  Romans.  Monsieur 
commanded  the  Persians,  M.  le  prince  the  Turks,  M.  le 
due  the  Muscovites,  and  M.  de  Guise,  the  Moors.  The 
whole  court  took  part  in  this  royal  entertainment  which  only 
cost  a  trifling  twelve  hundred  thousand  livres. 

While  the  court  thus  amused  itself  at  the  people's  ex- 
pense, the  people  in  return  sang  songs  about  the  court  and 
pitilessly  railed  at  the  display  of  bad  taste  of  which  it  had 
given  proof  on  this  occasion ;  pamphlets,  satires  and  epigrams 
rained  from  all  directions  upon  the  unlucky  actors;  nothing 
was  spared,  not  even  the  place  that  had  served  as  their  stage. 

The  revolution  of  '89  is  only  one  chapter  in  the  history 
of  the  Carrousel,  the  most  sanguinary  perhaps,  but  not  the 
most  curious.  The  last  act  of  the  great  political  comedy 
of  the  1 8th  hrumaire  was  the  installation  of  Bonaparte  at 
the  Tuileries.  This  was  one  step  taken  toward  royalty  ; 
the  first  and  greatest  of  all.  From  the  Luxembourg  to 
the  Tuileries,  there  was  an  abyss ;  Bonaparte  crossed  it  by 
making  a  bridge  of  his  two  colleagues,  Cambaceres  and 
Lebrun.  By  the  aid  of  an  ingenious  fraud,  he  changed 
the  name  of  the  old  palace  of  the  kings  :  the  Tuileries 
were  called  the  government.  Two  architects,  MM. 
Peyre  and  Fontaine,  were  charged  with  the  decoration  and 
embellishment ;  under  the  pretext  of  cleaning  all  the  an- 
archical emblems,  all  the  seditious  sentences  and  all  the 
revolutionary  devices  that  had  covered  the  walls  and  vaults 


PLACE  DU  CARROUSEL  303 

were  effaced.  Liberty  was  whitewashed  just  as  the  fleurs- 
de-lis  had  been  erased ;  the  sponge  was  passed  over  all  the 
memories  of  another  age  and  the  First  Consul  entered 
Louis  XIV. 's  palace  like  a  son  into  his  ancestral  abode. 

That  was  a  day  of  festival  for  the  Place  du  Carrousel  : 
Bonaparte,  who  remembered  the  Tenth  of  August,  had 
caused  the  castle  to  be  isolated  ;  the  Square  was  cleared  of 
the  houses  that  surrounded  it,  everything  was  ready  ;  France 
awaited  a  master.  Suddenly  a  formidable  noise  is  heard, 
drums  beat,  people  clap  their  hands,  a  thousand  shouts  and 
acclamations  rise  into  the  air ;  the  cannon  roars.  Napoleon 
arrives  in  an  open  carriage  drawn  by  six  white  horses  and 
surrounded  by  a  brilliant  staff.  On  the  Carrousel  the  car- 
riage stops,  the  First  Consul  alights,  springs  on  horseback, 
and,  before  the  eyes  of  a  whole  nation  intoxicated,  inaugu- 
rates that  little  hat  that  became  so  popular.  The  tattered 
flags  of  the  96th,  43d  and  30th  regiments  defile  before 
their  young  leader.  Bonaparte  uncovers  his  brow  and 
bows,  the  army  trembles  and  the  populace  applauds.  At 
this  moment  the  conqueror  of  Egypt  is  as  great  as  the  pyra- 
mids from  whose  tops  forty  centuries  have  watched  his  ex- 
ploits ;  at  this  moment  everything  effaces  itself  before  him  ; 
he  has  already  set  his  foot  upon  the  first  step  of  the  throne, 
he  has  taken  possession  of  Louis  XVI. 's  room  and  Louis 
XIV. 's  cabinet ;  Josephine  is  already  installed  in  the  queen's 
apartment  and  in  another  hour  the  new  sovereign  will  re- 
ceive the  homage  of  the  diplomatic  body  with  that  ease  and 
grace  that  are  woman's  true  royalty. 


304  PARIS 

The  year  that  opened  thus  passed  like  a  fairy  dream 
amid  the  triumphs  of  our  arms;  every  cannon-shot  heard 
in  Europe  had  a  glorious  echo  in  the  Place  du  Carrousel. 
The  explosion  of  the  Rue  Saint-Nicaise  only  resulted  in 
hastening  the  accomplishment  of  Caesar's  dearest  wish  ;  he 
went  out  a  consul  and  returned  an  emperor.  After  that 
it  was  only  a  question  of  form.  Pius  VII.  could  not  refuse 
the  crown  to  one  who  had  given  him  the  tiara,  and  Paris 
attended  that  imposing  and  solemn  spectacle  of  a  little 
soldier  of  fortune  so  aggrandized  by  his  own  genius  that  the 
Pope  could  place  the  crown  upon  his  brow  without  lower- 
ing himself. 

The  Pope's  stay,  the  emperor's  divorce,  the  Arch- 
duchess Marie's  marriage,  and  the  king  of  Rome's  birth, 
all  belong  to  the  history  of  the  Carrousel ;  but  are  only  un- 
important episodes  in  the  frame  of  our  picture. 

On  March  31,  1814,  the  Empire  was  no  longer,  the  Res- 
toration began.  Since  '93  not  the  slightest  mirth-provok- 
ing word  had  been  heard  at  the  Tuileries,  so  that  the  Res- 
toration was  joyfully  received  ;  brought  about  by  M.  de 
Talleyrand,  it  could  not  be  other  than  a  restoration  of  wit, 
though  an  ephemeral  one,  lasting  only  as  long  as  an  epi- 
gram. "  Louis  XVIII.  only  had  time  to  sleep  in  Napoleon's 
sheets."  So  when  Napoleon  arrived  he  found  his  bed 
made  ;  which  explains  the  ease  with  which  he  gained  pos- 
session of  it.  The  rocket  of  the  Hundred  Days  took  its 
flight,  blazed  and  then  went  out,  and  on  July  8,  18 15, 
Louis  XVIIL  resumed  possession  of  that  bed  so  often  dis- 


PLACE  DU  CARROUSEL  305 

puted.  Everything  leads  us  to  believe  that  this  time  he 
took  care  to  have  the  sheets  changed. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Cossacks  were  seen  bivouacing  and 
hostile  guns  drawn  up  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel.  During 
this  time,  the  populace  was  attacked  with  vertigo,  delirium 
seized  every  brain  ;  all  who  approached  the  Carrousel  and 
the  Tuileries  seemed  immediately  to  lose  their  reason ;  the 
greatest  ladies  danced  the  farandole  beneath  the  windows  of 
the  castle,  mingling  with  the  mob;  the  men  were  without 
courage  and  the  women  without  shame.  It  was  infamy  be- 
come epidemic. 

Now  we  reach  a  difficult  epoch,  wherein  the  history  of 
the  Carrousel  is  so  bound  up  with  the  history  of  the  Restor- 
ation that  a  volume  would  be  required  merely  to  graze  the 
facts  we  meet  with. 

Charles  X.  mounted  the  throne  and,  before  the  Place  du 
Carrousel  had  noticed  his  presence,  he  had  descended. 
We  will  finish  with  two  events  that  alone  made  a  great 
noise  in  the  square.  The  first,  in  order  of  time,  be  it  un- 
derstood, was  the  death  of  M.  de  Talleyrand.  The  second 
was  much  more  serious  and  sad  :  we  refer  to  the  Due 
d'Orleans.  On  learning  of  the  death  of  Armand  Carrel, 
that  enlightened  chief  of  the  liberal  party,  it  is  said  that  the 
Due  d'Orleans  uttered  this  noble  expression  of  noble  re- 
gret :  "  It  is  a  misfortune  for  the  whole  world."  Well,  on 
the  death  of  the  prince,  it  was  found  that  all  the  world  was 
of  the  same  opinion. 


THE  PALAIS-ROYALE 

H.  MONIN 

THE  Palais-Royale  covers  a  space  405  metres  long 
by  123  wide  between  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  the 
Place  du  Palais-Royale  and  that  of  the  Theatre- 
Fran^ais,  the  Rue  de  Montpensier,  the  Rue  de  Beaujolais  and 
the  Rue  de  Valois.  The  palace,  properly  so  called,  faces 
the  Place  du  Palais-Royale  which  has  been  more  than 
doubled  by  the  cutting  through  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  It 
comprises  a  ground-floor  and  a  story  with  mansards.  A 
portico  of  six  arcades,  with  grilles,  entablature,  and  balustrades 
unites  the  pavilions.  The  ground-floor  of  the  principal 
body  is  of  the  Doric  Order,  and  the  first  story  of  the  Ionic  ; 
each  of  the  pavilions  has  four  Ionic  columns  with  triangular 
pediments.  The  middle  part  contains  the  gate  of  honour 
(a  triple  doorway  with  eight  Doric  coupled  columns)  then 
three  arcades  open  into  the  vestibule  of  the  palace,  composed 
of  a  central  pavilion  adorned  with  six  Ionic  coupled  col- 
umns, surmounted  with  a  pilastered  attic  story  with  semi- 
circular pediment.  All  this  part  of  the  palace  faces  the 
south.  On  the  north,  in  an  interior  court,  it  presents  a 
facade  comprising  a  ground-floor  in  arcades  and  a  first  story 
distributed  among  ten  composite  columns.  The  two  sides 
on  the  east  and  west  extend  in  lateral  buildings  on  porticos 

that  join   the  Orleans   gallery  which   is    partly  glazed  and 

306 


THE  PALAIS-ROYALE  307 

partly  surmounted  by  terraces  at  the  height  of  the  first  story 
of  the  palace.  This  gallery  marks  the  beginning  of  the 
palais  marchand^  that  is  to  say  those  buildings  devoted  to 
trade,  surrounding  a  garden  250  metres  long  by  95  wide 
(207  arcades  or  porticos).  The  garden  is  planted  with 
trees  in  alleys  and  ornamented  with  flower-beds  and  a 
central  basin  and  fountain. 

The  first  buildings,  in  place  of  the  Hotel  de  Mercoeur 
and  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  were  ordered  by  Cardinal  Richelieu 
from  the  architect  Lemercier  (1629-36)  ;  they  were  called 
the  Palais-Cardinal,  and  Corneille  declared  in  Le  Menteur^ 
"  that  the  whole  universe  could  not  show  anything  to  equal 
the  superb  exterior  of  the  Palais-Cardinal."  Louis  XHI. 
inherited  it  as  a  legacy  from  his  minister  and  it  became  in 
reality  Palais-Royale  by  its  selection  as  the  habitual  residence 
of  the  regent  Anne  of  Austria,  mother  of  Louis  XIV.  For 
some  time  also  it  sheltered  the  widow  of  Charles  L  of  Eng- 
land, Henrietta  Maria  of  France.  In  1661,  Louis  XIV. 
gave  it  as  a  residence  to  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
who  enlarged  and  decorated  it  and  entered  into  possession 
in  1692  (letters  patent  February),  and  in  1701  left  it  to  his 
son,  who,  on  becoming  regent  in  the  name  of  Louis  XV., 
further  embellished  it  and  added  a  celebrated  gallery  of 
pictures.  This  gallery,  expurgated,  it  is  said,  by  Louis,  the 
son  of  the  regent  (1723-52),  assumed  the  proportions  of 
a  real  museum  under  Louis-Philippe.  But  in  1763  the 
Opera  was  burnt  and,  as  it  then  adjoined  the  palace,  the 
latter  was  also   partly   consumed.     The  three  parts  of  the 


3o8  PARIS 

present  building,  due  to  P.  L.  Moreau,  date  from  that  time. 
In  1780,  Louis-Philippe  Joseph,  then  Duke  de  Chartres,  had 
the  trade-palace  built  by  Louis;  it  was  completed  in  1784. 
A  second  burning  of  the  Opera  (1781)  gave  occasion  to  the 
building  (1786)  of  the  Theatre  des  Varietes  amusantes^  now 
the  Comedie  Fran^aise.  In  179c,  the  Duke  of  Orleans  had 
already  let  one  hundred  and  sixty  of  the  one  hundred  and 
eighty  arcades  that  then  surrounded  the  garden,  which  had 
brought  him  in  more  than  ten  millions.  Not  all  of  the 
changes  of  that  period  were  happy.  Richelieu's  superb 
chestnut-trees  disappeared  ;  a  circus,  partly  underground 
(1786-99),  was  constructed  in  the  centre.  The  arcades, 
the  garden,  and  especially  the  wooden  gallery  became  the 
ordinary  meeting-place  of  libertines,  loose  women,  gam- 
blers, and  stock-jobbers,  as  well  as  foreigners  who  judged 
Paris  and  France  by  what  they  found  there.  Like  the 
Temple  and  the  Luxembourg,  the  Palais-Royale  was 
still  a  privileged  place  and  a  kind  of  asylum  for  delin- 
quents on  the  eve  of  the  Revolution.  On  April,  1787, 
the  king  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Orleans  in  order 
that  "  the  police-officers  may  freely  make  search  "  in  his 
palace  "  as  in  all  other  places  "  in  view  of  "  the  multiplicity 
of  makers  of  false  notes."  The  royal  gardens  (Tuileries, 
etc.)  were  only  open  to  people  of  good  society,  "  well 
dressed  "  ;  "  illicit  "  and  popular  assemblages  were  dreaded ; 
it  was  the  Duke  of  Orleans  who  was  the  first  to  give  them 
every  facility  and  to  assure  them  a  relative  impunity.  The 
Palais-Royale  was  consequently  the  centre  and  the  hearth  of 


THE  PALAIS-KOYALE  309 

the  first  revolutionary  proceedings.  Having  become  entirely- 
national  after  Philippe-Egalite  had  been  condemned  to  death, 
it  was  almost  abandoned  to  the  deprecatory  and  mercantile 
fancies  of  its  tenants.  After  the  Eighteenth  Brumaire^  the 
Tribunat  was  installed  there  until  its  suppression  in  1807, 
and  then  came  the  turn  of  the  Bourse  and  of  the  Tribunal 
of  Commerce.  Louis  XVIII.,  with  whom  the  son  of 
Egalite  had  made  his  reconciliation,  restored  his  palace; 
Louis-Philippe  constructed  the  glass  gallery  called  the  Or- 
leans Gallery  (by  Fontaine),  besides  separating  the  left 
wing  from  the  palace,  raising  the  central  building  one  story, 
extending  the  right  wing  from  the  theatre  to  the  garden, 
building  the  pavilions  that  connect  the  court  of  honour 
with  the  trade-palace,  and  finally,  restoring  the  theatre.  It 
was  in  this  palace  that,  after  the  journees  dejuillet^  he  accepted 
the  title  of  King  of  the  French,  but  he  ceased  to  dwell  there 
October  i,  1831.  Under  the  second  republic,  the  Palais- 
Royale  was  the  residence  of  the  Compto'ir  d'escompte  and  the 
staff  of  the  National  Guards.  At  first  only  sequestrated,  it 
was  afterward  confiscated  by  presidential  decree,  January 
23,  1852.  Under  the  second  empire,  it  became  the  residence 
of  the  "  King "  Jerome  and  his  son.  Prince  Napoleon. 
Louis-Philippe's  picture  gallery  was  sacked  in  1848;  and 
Prince  Napoleon's  (allegorical  paintings  by  Hedoin,  among 
others)  in  1871.  It  is  now  occupied  by  the  Cour  des 
Comptes^  and  by  the  Council  of  State  since  1875.  At  the 
end  of  the  Montpensier  gallery  and  northeast  of  the  trade 
palace,  is  a  little  theatre-hall  of  eight  hundred  seats,  built  in 


310  PARIS 

1785,  which  has  borne  the  successive  names  of  Theatre  de 
Beaujolais^  or  des  Marionettes^  Theatre  de  Mile,  de  Montansier 
(the  directress)  in  1790,  Theatre  de  la  Montagne^  and  lastly 
Theatre  du  Palais-Roy  ale  ^  celebrated  by  the  traditional  gaiety 
of  its  repertory. 


LA  MADELEINE 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 

THE  church  of  the  Magdalen  (Madeleine)  is  curiously 
connected  with  the  history  of  Napoleon  I.,  who 
had  the  incompleted  edifice  continued  with  the 
strange  intention  of  dedicating  it  as  a  temple  to  the  mem- 
ory of  La  Grande  Armee.  Every  year  on  the  anniversaries 
of  Austerlitz  and  Jena,  the  temple  was  to  have  been  il- 
luminated and  a  discourse  delivered  concerning  the  military 
virtues,  with  an  eulogy  of  those  who  perished  in  the  two 
battles.  This  intention  was  never  carried  out,  and  the 
building,  which  had  been  begun  in  1764  as  a  church,  was 
finished  as  a  church  under  the  reign  of  Louis-Philippe. 
Nothing  could  apparently  be  more  decided  in  architectural 
intentions  than  the  Madeleine  as  we  see  it  now.  It  seems 
to  be  plainly  a  temple,  and  never  to  have  been  intended  for 
anything  else.  In  reality,  however,  it  was  begun  under 
Louis  XV.  as  a  church,  resembling  what  is  now  the  Pan- 
theon, and  the  change  of  plan  was  carried  into  effect  many 
years  after  the  works  had  been  actually  commenced.  It  is 
not  by  any  means  a  subject  of  regret  that  this  temple  should 
have  been  erected  in  Paris,  as  it  gives  many  students  of 
architecture  who  have  not  visited  the  south  of  Europe  an 
excellent  opportunity  hr  feeling  what  an  antique  temple  was 
like,  to  a  degree  that  is  not  possible  with  no  more  powerful 

311 


312  PARIS 

teachers  than  photographs  or  small  models.  Viollet-le-Duc 
said  that  it  was  barbarous  to  build  the  copy  of  a  Greek  tem- 
ple in  Paris  or  London,  or  among  the  mists  of  Edinburgh, 
condemning  alike  the  Madeleine  and  the  fragmentary  Scot- 
tish copy  of  the  Parthenon ;  but  surely  a  student  of  archi- 
tecture, born  in  the  north,  would  visit  both  the  Scottish 
Parthenon  and  the  Parisian  temple  with  great  interest,  sim- 
ply because  they  show  him  columns  on  their  own  scale, 
real  columns  in  the  open  air.  We  are  so  accustomed  to 
Gothic  and  Renaissance  churches  that  a  temple  is  an  ac- 
ceptable variety,  were  it  only  to  demonstrate,  by  actual  com- 
parison, the  immense  superiority  of  more  modern  forms  for 
purposes  of  Christian  worship.  We  ought  to  bear  in  mind, 
however,  that  although  the  Madeleine  resembles  a  Corinthian 
temple  externally,  it  has  not  the  surroundings  of  such  a 
temple  and  is  not  associated  with  its  uses.  For  Christian 
architecture,  on  the  other  hand,  such  a  system  of  building 
involves  a  great  waste  of  money  and  space  in  the  colon- 
nades and  the  passages  between  them  and  the  walled  build- 
ing or  cella.  The  space  in  the  Madeleine,  already  so  re- 
stricted, is  limited  still  farther  by  internal  projections  in- 
tended to  divide  the  length  into  compartments  and  to  give 
a  reason  for  six  lateral  chapels,  so  that  every  one  who  en- 
ters it  for  the  first  time  is  surprised  by  the  smallness  of  the 
interior.  I  need  hardly  observe  that  there  is  not  the  slight- 
est attempt  to  preserve  the  internal  arrangements  of  a 
Greek  temple,  even  if  they  were  precisely  known,  on  which 
architects  are  not  agreed.     The  side  chapels  have  arches 


LA  MADELEINE  313 

over  them,  the  roof  is  vaulted  with  round  arches  across  the 
building,  springing  from  the  Corinthian  columns,  and  in 
each  section  is  a  dome-ceiling  with  a  circular  light  (as  in 
the  Pantheon  at  Rome),  these  lights  being  the  only  windows 
in  the  edifice.  The  high  altar  is  in  a  round  apse  en  cul  de 
four^  with  marble  panels  and  a  hemicycle  of  columns  be- 
hind the  altar.  There  is  great  profusion  of  marbles  of 
various  kinds,  of  gilding,  and  of  mural  painting,  that  I  have 
not  space  to  describe  in  detail.  Enough  has  been  said  to 
show  that  the  work,  as  a  whole,  is  a  combination  of  Greek, 
Roman,  and  French  ideas.  The  general  idea  of  the  ex- 
terior is  Greek,  but  if  you  examine  details,  you  see  the  in- 
fluence of  Rome,  and  you  find  it  still  more  strongly  marked 
inside,  by  the  arches  of  the  roof.  The  French  spirit  is 
shown  in  the  decoration  chiefly,  which  is  so  truly  Parisian 
that  the  Madeleine  is  instinctively  preferred  by  fashionable 
people.  A  fashionable  marriage  there  is  one  of  the  most 
thoroughly  consistent  spectacles  to  be  seen  in  modern  Paris. 
Here  is  nothing  to  remind  us  of  the  austerity  of  past  ages, 
but  the  gilded  youth  of  to-day  may  walk  along  soft  carpets, 
amid  an  odour  of  incense  and  flowers  and  the  sounds  of 
mellifluous  music.  The  pretty  ceremony  over,  they  pass 
out  down  the  carpeted  steps,  and  an  admiring  crowd  watches 
them  into  their  carriages.  And  nobody  thinks  about  the 
dead  at  Austerlitz  and  Jena. 


LA  MADELEINE 

fFILLIJM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

WE  went  to  the  Madeleine  (the  walk  round  it 
under  the  magnificent  Corinthian  columns 
is  one  of  the  noblest  things  possible),  and 
entered  the  gorgeous  hall  of  white  marble  and  gold,  with 
its  inner  roof  of  three  circular  domes  ranging  the  length 
of  the  building,  with  a  semi-dome  covering  the  northern 
end  over  the  altar,  and  a  circular  vault  covering  the 
vestibule.  Galignani's  guide-book  (one  of  the  best,  most 
learned,  and  most  amusing  books  of  the  kind  that  have 
been  published)  will  give  you  a  full  account  of  the  place, 
as  of  all  others  that  sightseers  frequent.  It  is  as  fine, 
certainly,  as  fine  can  be  in  its  details,  and  vast  and  liberal 
in  its  proportions.  Well,  fancy  a  beautiful,  gorgeous,  ele- 
gant Brobdignac  cafe^  or  banqueting  room,  and  the  Made- 
leine will  answer  completely.  It  does  not  seem  to  contain 
a  single  spark  of  religion — no  edifice  built  in  the  Greek 
fashion  ever  did.  Why  should  we  be  prejudiced  in  favour 
of  the  Gothic  ?  Why  should  pointed  arches,  and  tall 
steeples,  and  grey  buttresses,  built  crosswise,  seem  to  ex- 
press— to  be,  as  it  were,  the  translation  into  architecture  of 
our  religion  ?  Is  it  true,  or  is  it  only  an  association  of 
ideas  ?  You,  who  have  been  born  since  Gothic  architec- 
ture was  dead,  can  best  answer  the  query. 

3H 


A 


BOULEVARD  DES  ITALIENS 

HO  NO  RE  DE  BALZAC 

T  seven  o'clock  not  a  footstep  resounds  upon  the 
flag-stones,  not  the  rolling  of  a  single  carriage 
grates  upon  the  pavement.  The  Boulevard 
awakens  about  half-past  eight  v\^ith  the  noise  of  several 
cabs,  beneath  the  heavy  tread  of  occasional  and  laden  port- 
ers, and  to  the  cries  of  numerous  workmen  in  blouses  going 
to  their  occupation.  Not  a  blind  has  been  opened ;  the 
shops  are  shut  up  like  oysters.  This  is  an  unknown  spec- 
tacle to  many  Parisians,  who  believe  that  the  Boulevard  is 
always  adorned,  even  as  they  believe  with  their  favourite 
critic,  that  lobsters  are  born  red.  At  nine  o'clock  the 
Boulevard  washes  its  feet  all  along  the  line,  its  shops  open 
their  eyes,  revealing  a  terrible  disorder  within.  A  few  mo- 
ments later,  it  is  bustling  as  z  grisette^  and  some  intriguing 
frock-coats  plough  through  its  sidewalks.  Toward  eleven 
o'clock,  the  cabs  hurry  along  to  lawsuits,  for  payments,  to 
lawyers,  to  notaries,  bearing  along  budding  failures,  junior 
brokers,  transactions,  intriguers  with  thoughtful  faces,  suc- 
cesses slumbering  under  buttoned-up  overcoats,  tailors,  and 
shirtmakers,  in  short,  all  the  busy  morning  world  of  Paris. 
The  Boulevard  becomes  hungry  toward  noon,  every  one 
breakfasts  and  the  brokers  of  the  Bourse  arrive.  Then, 
from  two  to  five  o'clock  its  life  attains  its  apogee,  and  it  gives 

315 


3i6  PARIS 

its  great  performance  for  nothing.  Its  three  thousand  shops 
glitter,  and  the  great  poem  of  window-decoration  sings  its 
strophes  in  colour  from  the  Madeleine  to  the  Porte  Saint- 
Denis.  Artists  without  knowing  it,  the  passers-by  play  for 
you  the  chorus  of  the  antique  tragedy ;  they  laugh,  they  love, 
they  weep,  they  smile,  and  dream  fantastic  dreams.  They 
come  like  shadows  or  will-o'-the-wisps.  One  does  not 
go  down  two  Boulevards  without  meeting  a  friend  or  an 
enemy,  an  original  that  causes  a  laugh  or  a  thought,  a 
beggar  who  is  trying  to  find  a  sou^  a  vaudeviU'iste  who  is 
seeking  a  subject,  each  one  indigent  but  better  off  than  the 
other.  It  is  there  that  one  observes  the  comedy  of  dress. 
So  many  men,  so  many  different  coats  :  and  so  many  coats, 
so  many  different  characters  !  On  fine  days  the  women 
show  themselves,  but  not  in  handsome  toilettes.  The 
handsome  toilettes  to-day  go  to  the  Avenue  des  Champs- 
Elysees  or  to  the  Bois.  Women  comme  ilfaut  who  walk 
on  the  Boulevards  have  only  their  fancies  to  satisfy  and  to 
amuse  themselves  by  shopping ;  they  pass  quickly  and  know 
no  one. 


THE  BOULEVARDS 

RICHARD  WHITEING 

THE  Boulevards  are  of  four  kinds — the  inner  Bou- 
levards sometimes  called  the  Old  or  the  Grand, 
the  outer,  the  new,  and  the  Boulevards  of  the 
Enceinte,  or  the  continuous  road  running  just  inside  the 
line  of  fortification.  Those  commonly  spoken  of  as  The 
Boulevards  extend  from  the  Madeleine  to  the  Bastille,  a 
stretch  of  nearly  three  miles — to  be  exact,  tvi^o  and  three- 
quarters.  The  busiest  and  brightest  part  is  that  from  the 
Madeleine  to  and  inclusive  of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens. 
The  Boulevard  des  Italiens  takes  the  palm  for  every  kind 
of  animation.  Here  the  heart,  or  at  any  rate  the  pulse, 
of  Paris  beats.  The  Old  or  Grand  Boulevards  terminate 
at  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine. 

317 


THE  OPtRA  HOUSE 

PHILIP  GILBERT  HAMERTON 

THE  merit  of  Parisian  architects  is  to  have  perceived 
the  new  necessities  in  public  buildings  created  by 
streets  of  magnificent  private  dwellings.  If  the 
ordinary  architecture  of  a  city  is  on  a  large  scale  and  richly 
decorated,  its  public  buildings  must  still  distinguish  them- 
selves by  greater  richness.  One  consequence  of  the  recon- 
struction of  Parisian  dwellings  has  been  the  rebuilding,  in 
whole  or  in  part,  of  almost  all  those  theatres  that  happened 
to  be  near  new  streets  or  squares.  The  Theatre  Fran^ais 
had  a  new  front ;  the  Opera  was  rebuilt  with  unparalleled 
magnificence ;  the  Vaudeville  had  a  narrow  but  strikingly 
rich  curved  facade  at  the  corner  of  the  Chaussee  d'Antin, 
with  Corinthian  columns  and  Caryatides  and  a  fronton 
crowned  with  a  statue  of  Apollo.  The  new  Theatre  de  la 
Renaissance  is  a  heavy  but  sumptuous  structure,  also 
adorned  with  Caryatides  and  Corinthian  columns.  The 
Gaite  was  rebuilt  in  1861  with  a  pretty  arcade  on  marble 
columns  in  front  of  its  open  loggia.  The  Chatelet  was 
built  at  the  same  date,  and  has  also  its  loggia,  but  with 
statues  under  the  five  arches.  The  neighbouring  Theatre 
Historique,  ^  which  used  to   be  the   Lyrique,  was  also  built 

I  This    became    the    Thdatre    des   Nations   and   on   Jan.   21,  1899,   the 
Thfeatre  Sarah  Bernhardt.— E.  S. 

318 


THE  OPERA  HOUSE  319 

under  Louis  Napoleon,  though  it  has  been  rebuilt  since  in 
consequence  of  incendiarism  by  the  Communards.  The 
construction  of  these  buildings,  and  of  many  others,  was 
made  a  necessity  by  the  handsome  new  houses.  The 
Odeon  belongs  to  the  beginning  of  this  century  and  is  a 
plain,  respectable  structure.  It  may  remain  as  it  is  because 
the  houses  near  it  are  plain,  old-fashioned  dwellings  of  the 
same  or  an  earlier  date ;  but  if  the  Odeon  could  be  placed 
where  the  Opera  is  now,  it  would  be  too  simple  for  such  a 
situation. 

The  most  magnificent  of  recent  structures,  and  one  of 
the  most  happily  situated  is  the  Opera.  The  situation  has 
been  created  for  it  purposely.  The  front  might  have  looked 
merely  across  a  street,  but  a  new  street  of  great  length  was 
opened,  that  it  might  be  seen  from  a  distance.  Besides 
this,  arrangements  were  made  for  the  convergence  of  sev- 
eral other  new  streets  in  front  of  the  Opera  so  as  to  give  its 
site  the  utmost  possible  importance.  As  the  houses  in  these 
streets  are  all  of  them  lofty  and  many  of  them  magnificent, 
the  Opera  itself  required  both  size  and  richness  to  hold  its 
own  in  a  situation  that  would  have  been  dangerous  to  a 
feeble  or  even  a  modest  architectural  perform.ance.  The 
Opera  was  compelled  to  assert  itself  strongly,  and  if  it  had 
merits  they  must  be  of  a  showy  and  visible  kind, — rather 
those  of  the  sunflower  than  those  of  the  lily  of  the  valley. 
There  can  be  no  question  that  M.  Garnier  aimed  at  the 
right  kind  of  merit, — showy  magnificence, — but  there  are 
opposite  opinions  about  his  taste.     Like  all  important  con- 


320  PARIS 

temporary  efforts,  the  Opera  has  its  ardent  admirers  and  its 
pitiless  critics.  Let  me  tell  you  a  short  anecdote  about  the 
building,  which  may  help  us  in  some  measure  to  arrive  at  a 
just  opinion.  Shortly  after  its  completion  several  distin- 
guished men,  who  were  not  architects,  met  at  a  Parisian  din- 
ner-table, and  they  criticised  M.  Garnier  with  great  sever- 
ity. Among  them  was  a  provincial  architect,  who  re- 
mained silent  till  the  others  appealed  to  him.  Then  he 
said  :  "  Gentlemen,  when  an  architect  undertakes  to  erect 
a  comparatively  small  building,  it  is  still  a  very  complex  af- 
fair;  and  how  much  more  so  must  be  such  a  gigantic  work  as 
the  Opera,  where  a  thousand  matters  of  detail  and  neces- 
sity have  to  be  provided  for,  all  of  which  the  architect  has 
to  carry  in  his  mind  together,  and  to  reconcile  with  the  ex- 
igencies of  art !  Such  a  task  is  one  of  the  heaviest  and 
longest  strains  that  can  be  imposed  upon  the  mind  of  man ; 
and  if  the  architect  does  not  satisfy  every  one,  it  may  be 
because  other  people  are  not  aware  of  the  extreme  com- 
plexity of  the  problem."  For  me  I  confess  that  I  know 
really  nothing  about  theatres,  except  that  they  have  myste- 
rious difficulties  of  their  own.  I  like  being  outside  better 
than  inside  them. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  back  and  sides  of  the 
Opera,  the  principal  front  may  be  admired  without  reserve. 
The  basement  is  a  massive  wall,  finished  plainly,  and 
pierced  with  seven  round  arches.  In  the  intervals  between 
five  of  these  arches  are  statues  and  medallions  ;  on  each 
side  of  the  two  exterior  ones  are  groups  representing  Music, 


THE  OPERA  HOUSE  321 

Lyrical  Poetry,  the  Lyrical  Drama,  and  the  Dance.  The 
contrast  here  of  extreme  architectural  simplicity  with  figure- 
sculpture  is  excellent.  Above  is  a  colonnade  of  coupled 
Corinthian  columns  supporting  an  entablature,  and  between 
each  two  pairs  of  columns  is  an  open  space,  in  which  a 
lower  and  smaller  entablature,  with  a  wall  above  it,  is  sup- 
ported on  smaller  columns  of  marble.  This  wall  is  pierced 
in  each  interval  with  a  circular  opening  containing  the 
gilded  bust  of  a  great  musician.  Above  the  great  entabla- 
ture, and  immediately  over  each  pair  of  coupled  columns, 
is  a  medallion  with  supporters,  and  above  each  open  space 
of  the  loggia  is  an  oblong  panel  with  sculpture.  Then  you 
come  to  the  dome  of  the  house  and  the  gable  of  the  struc- 
ture above  the  stage.  The  effect  of  the  whole  is  a  combi- 
nation of  splendour  with  strength  and  durability.  The  use 
of  sculpture  has  been  happy,  and  the  sculpture  has  not  been 
killed  by  the  architecture,  as  it  often  is.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  has  lightened  the  appearance  of  the  architecture, 
especially  on  the  top  of  the  edifice  where  the  colossal 
winged  figures  are  most  valuable, — and  so  is  that  on  the 
apex  which  holds  up  the  lyre  with  both  hands. 

With  regard  to  the  interior,  my  humble  opinion — the 
opinion  of  one  who  knows  nothing  about  theatres — is,  that 
the  business  of  plotting  for  splendour  has  been  considerably 
overdone.  The  foyer  is  palatial,  but  it  is  overcharged  with 
heavy  ornament,  like  the  palace  of  some  lavish  but  vulgar 
king.  As  for  poor  Paul  Baudry's  paintings  on  the  ceiling, 
which    cost    him  such   an  infinity  of  labour  and  pains,  it 


322  PARIS 

does  not  in  the  least  signify  what  he  painted  or  how  long  it 
will  last,  for  nobody  can  see  his  work  in  its  present  situ- 
ation. There  can  hardly  be  any  more  deplorable  waste  of  in- 
dustry and  knowledge  than  to  devote  it  to  the  painting  of 
ceilings  that  we  cannot  look  at  without  pains  in  the  neck, 
and  cannot  see  properly  when  we  do  look  at  them.  The 
grand  staircase  is  more  decidedly  a  success  than  the /oyer. 
It  almost  overpowers  us  by  its  splendour  j  it  is  full  of  daz- 
zling light;  it  conveys  a  strong  sense  of  height,  space, 
openness  ;  it  comes  on  the  sight  as  a  burst  of  brilliant  and 
triumphant  music  on  the  ear.  The  mind  has  its  own  satis- 
faction in  a  work  that  is  splendid  without  false  pretension. 
All  the  materials  are  really  what  they  seem.  The  thirty 
columns  are  monoliths  of  marble,  every  step  is  of  white 
Italian  marble,  the  hand-rail  of  onyx,  supported  by  balus- 
ters of  rouge  antique,  on  a  base  of  green  marble  from  Sweden. 
We  may  admire  the  grand  staircase  or  object  to  it,  but  it 
is  honest  work  throughout,  and  may  last  a  thousand  years. 
The  architect  evidently  took  pride  in  it,  as  he  has  so 
planned  the  design  that  visitors  may  look  down  from  gal- 
leries on  four  different  stories  all  round  the  building.  The 
house  itself  is  much  less  original,  with  its  decoration  of 
red  and  gold,  and  the  customary  arrangements  for  the 
audience. 


Mi 


THE  CONSERVATOIRE  DE  MUSIQUE 

ALBERT  LAl^IGNAC 

IT'S  who  casts  his  eyes  over  the  list  of  members  of 
1  the  teaching  body  of  the  Conservatoire  in  the 
■^  year  of  its  foundation  (1795)  is  not  a  little  sur- 
prised to  see  among  them  nineteen  professors  of  the  clari- 
net and  twelve  professors  of  the  bassoon. 

To  understand  what  seems  to  us  now  an  absurdity,  and 
yet  was  not  one,  we  must  go  back  to  that  period  and  learn 
how  the  Conservatoire  came  to  be  born. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  revolution,  in  1789,  a  captain 
of  the  staff  of  the  National  Guard,  Bernard  Sarrette,  who 
was  not  himself  a  player,  but  was  very  fond  of  music,  took 
under  his  personal  charge  forty-five  musicians  of  the 
former  Gardes  Fran^aises  in  all  that  concerned  the  cost, 
equipment  and  care  of  the  instruments,  and  with  these 
forty-five  musicians  he  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  music  of 
the  Garde  Nationale. 

He  was  reimbursed  for  his  expenses  about  a  year  later, 
and,  in  1792,  he  was  appointed  director  of  the  Ecole 
gratuite  de  Musique  de  la  Garde  Nationale,  which  we 
must  regard  as  the  embryo  of  our  Conservatoire.  The 
pupils,  to  the  number  of  a  hundred  and  twenty-six,  be- 
tween the  ages  of  ten  and  twenty  years,  had  to  provide 
themselves    with    a    uniform    (of    the    Garde    Nationale, 

323 


324  PARIS 

doubtless),  an  instrument  and  music-paper;  they  were 
bound  to  the  service  of  the  Garde  Nationale  and  public 
festivals. 

If  you  want  to  form  an  idea  of  the  degree  of  liberty 
that  was  enjoyed  at  that  period  I  will  tell  you  that  in  1793, 
a  pupil  having  allowed  himself  to  play  upon  the  horn  the 
air  from  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion ;  "  6  Richard^  6  mon  Roi " 
the  poor  Sarrette  was  put  to  prison.  Being  authorized  to 
go  out  when  he  was  needed  for  the  organization  for  the 
musical  part  of  the  festival  of  the  Supreme  Being,  he  could 
not  take  a  step  without  being  escorted  by  gendarmes,  one 
of  whom  slept  in  his  chamber. 

On  the  20  Prairial  year  II.  (1794)  a  hymn  specially 
composed  for  the  occasion  was  to  be  given  in  the  Champ 
de  Mars.  This  hymn  was  ordered  from  Sarrette  on  the 
15th  by  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  and  immediately 
composed  by  Gossec ;  it  was  necessary  to  teach  this  chant 
to  the  people  in  the  four  days  that  followed,  by  Robe- 
spierre's orders,  who  made  Sarrette  responsible  for  its  good 
execution  :  Gossec  took  charge  of  the  Quartier  des  Halles, 
Lesueur  taking  the  boulevards,  and  Mehul  installing  him- 
self before  the  door  of  the  establishment  which  was  then 
in  the  Rue  Saint-Joseph. 

The  hymn,  therefore,  was  learned  and  executed  on  the 
appointed  day,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Committee  of 
Public  Safety,  by  a  great  throng  of  performers,  the  whole 
populace  singing,  accompanied  by  two  hundred  drums,  one 
hundred   of   which  were   furnished    by  the   pupils   of  the 


CONSERVATOIRE  DE  MUSIOUE    325 

School  of  Music  of  the   Garde   Nationale,  the  other  hun- 
dred being  ordinary  drummers. 

At  length,  August  3d,  1795  (16  thermidor  an  III.)  two 
laws  appeared  simultaneously,  the  first  suppressing  the 
music  of  the  Garde  Nationale  as  well  as  its  school  of  sing- 
ing and  declamation,  as  to  which  precise  documents  are 
lacking  but  which  goes  back  to  1786,  at  least;  and  the 
other,  organizing  the  Conservatoire  de  Musique,  and  in- 
stalling it  in  the  locality  of  Menus-Plaisirs,  says  that  it 
must  teach  music  to  six  hundred  pupils  of  both  sexes,  se- 
lected proportionately  in  the  various  departments,  and  im- 
poses upon  it  the  duty  of  furnishing  a  body  of  musicians 
every  day  for  the  service  of  the  Garde  Nationale  and  the 
Corps  legislatif.  Hence  comes  the  utility  of  the  profusion 
of  players  on  the  clarinet  and  bassoon  of  which  we  spoke 
in  the  beginning. 

On  the  10th  of  the  same  month,  Sarrette  was  ap- 
pointed Director  of  the  Conservatoire,  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  born  of  the  fusion  between  the  Institute  de 
musique  of  the  Garde  Nationale  and  the  Ecole  de  Chant  et 
de  Declamation. 

As  to  the  personality  of  our  venerable  founder  I  can  tell 
you  nothing,  not  possessing  any  positive  document  as  to  his 
character  or  private  life.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  a 
man  endowed  with  initiative  and  persevering  will,  a  strong 
organizer  to  whom  we  owe  the  grouping  and  creation  of 
the  Ecole  Nationale  Fran^aise. 

Up    to   that   time  France  had  certainly  produced  com- 


326  PARIS 

posers  of  talent  and  genius  but  that  cohesion  was  lacking 
which  alone  can  constitute,  properly  speaking,  a  school. 

He  directed  the  Conservatoire  for  twenty  years,  from 
1795  to  1816. 

His  direct  successor  was  Perne,  who  was  director  for 
only  five  years,  from  1817  to  1822. 

Then  came  Cherubini,  from  1823  to  1841  (eighteen 
years);  Auber,  from  1842  to  187 1  (nineteen  years); 
Ambroise  Thomas,  from  1872  to  1896  (twenty-four  years)  ; 
and  lastly  Theodore  Dubois,  the  present  director  since 
1896. 

If  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  Perne,  whose  short 
directory  has  very  few  traces,  it  is  quite  otherwise  with 
Cherubini,  one  of  the  greatest  masters  who  have  done 
honour  to  the  French  School,  and  whom  people  are  very 
wrong  in  neglecting  and  almost  despising  to-day. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  affability  was  not  precisely  the 
dominant  note  of  Cherubini's  character.  Adolphe  Adam, 
who  was  twelve  years  old  when  he  was  presented  by  a 
friend  of  his  father's,  remembered  all  his  life  his  recep- 
tion. 

"  Dear  master,"  said  the  introducer,  "  I  take  great 
pleasure  in  presenting  to  you  a  youth  who  is  destined  for 
music  and  who  has  capacities,  for  he  is  the  son  of  our 
friend  Adam ;  young  as  he  is,  he  is  already  one  of  your 
enthusiastic  admirers. 

"  Ah  !     Ah  !     Ah  !     Ah  !  que  ze  le  trouve  bien  le  !  " 

And  he  did  not  say  another  word. 


CONSERVATOIRE  DE  MUSIOUE   327 

In  default  of  good-nature,  this  man  of  genius  possessed 
a  punctuality  and  an  exactitude  proof  against  every- 
thing. 

He  arrived  at  his  office  at  five  minutes  to  nine  bringing  a 
piece  of  sugar  for  his  class-attendant's  dog.  On  Monday, 
not  having  come  on  Sunday,  he  brought  two. 

At  that  period  the  Directors  did  not  reside  at  the  Con- 
servatoire. 

Cherubini  lived  close  by,  at  No.  19  Faubourg  Poisson- 
niere.  His  successor,  Auber,  lived  at  No.  24  Rue  Saint- 
Georges  in  a  house  that  he  owned,  Ambroise  Thomas  was 
the  first  director  to  live  in  the  establishment  in  the  apart- 
ment that  had  previously  been  occupied  by  Clapisson,  as 
founder  and  conservator  of  the  Musee  Instrumental. 

From  1825  to  1871,  that  is  to  say  under  Cherubini  and 
Auber,  a  boarding-school  existed  for  twelve  singing-schol- 
ars, from  whom  have  come  a  certain  number  of  singers 
who  have  since  become  famous, — Faure,  Capoul,  Bouhy, 
Melchissedec,  Couderc  and  Bosquin,  to  mention  only  a 
few,  who  were  very  proud  of  their  uniform  (a  black  over- 
coat with  lyres  surrounded  with  palms  embroidered  in  gold 
on  the  lapels,  and  the  same  emblem  on  the  sailor's-cap) 
which  made  them  look  like  members  of  a  choral  society  of 
to-day,  or  pupils  of  the  Ecole  Niedermayer.  They  lived 
in  the  building  to  the  left  of  the  courtyard ;  their  twelve 
rooms  were  on  the  second  floor,  some  looking  into  the 
courtyard  and  the  others  into  the  Rue  Bergere,  their  halls 
for  study  (the  present  waiting-room  at  the  examinations)  on 


328  PARIS 

the  first  floor,  the  refectory  on  the  ground-floor,  and  the 
kitchen  in  the  basement. 

They  had  a  special  porter,  who  has  always  been  kept 
notwithstanding  the  suppression  of  the  boarding-school, 
which  explains  why  the  Conservatoire  possesses  three  por- 
ters, although  it  has  only  two  entrances.  Here  they  were 
taught  singing  and  lyrical  declamation,  and  they  were  also 
expected  to  learn  solfeggio  and  the  elements  of  the  piano. 
From  1822  to  1826  there  was  also  a  boarding-school  of 
female  students  at  26  Rue  de  Paradis. 

Cherubini  established  an  iron  discipline  over  them  ;  a 
grille  of  the  same  metal,  always  closed  like  that  of  the 
prison,  existed  under  the  porch  ;  these  young  people  were 
absolutely  forbidden  to  go  out  alone ;  they  could  not  put 
their  nose  outside  except  in  a  band  and  accompanied ;  su- 
pervision was  incessant.  Recreation  was  taken  in  com- 
mon, in  the  courtyard  when  it  was  fine  weather,  under  the 
vigilant  eye  of  the  three  porters,  a  special  overseer  and  the 
Director  of  the  Boarding-School.  Their  correspondence 
was  the  object  of  special  attention.  It  was  in  fact  true 
monastic  rule. 

This  did  not  prevent  evasions  almost  every  night,  since 
almost  every  morning  there  were  scholars  who  entered  by 
the  door.  They  knew  well  enough  how  to  get  out;  but 
they  did  not  know  how  to  get  back ;  the  inmates  were  tired 
out  and  Cherubini  was  furious.  In  exasperation  he  ordered 
chains  and  bars  to  be  put  at  all  the  windows. 

For  those  who  did  not  possess  the  highest  gymnastic  pow- 


CONSERVATOIRE  DE  MUSIOUE    329 

ers,  more  sedentary  pastimes  existed.  One  day  a  squirrel, 
belonging  probably  to  one  of  the  inmates,  having  died,  they 
gave  it  a  pompous  funeral  that  lasted  not  less  than  three 
days,  during  which  the  whole  Conservatoire  was  in  effer- 
vescence ;  nothing  was  forgotten,  the  lying  in  state  of  the 
corpse,  the  chants  and  the  religious  ceremonies  ;  it  seems 
that  it  was  very  droll,  but  I  would  not  dare  to  affirm  that 
it  was  altogether  seemly. 

From  all  this  we  see  that  notwithstanding  the  directoral 
rigours  life  was  not  so  unendurable  as  might  have  been 
thought  in  the  school. 

All  those  who  knew  Cherubini  say  that  outside  his  work 
he  was  a  very  affable,  gentle  and  even  witty  man ;  that  his 
house  was  very  gay,  that  he  received  a  great  deal  and  that  his 
daughters,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  were  charming.  Not- 
withstanding this  I  have  never  heard  a  truly  amiable  word  of 
his  quoted.  He  never  went  to  first  performances  by  virtue 
of  the  following  principle  :  "  If  the  work  is  good  it  will  be 
played  again;  if  it  is  bad  there  is  no  need  for  me  to  hear  it." 

However,  he  generally  made  exception  for  the  works  of 
his  pupils. 

If  we  now  pass  on  to  Auber,  we  shall  find  ourselves  in 
presence  of  an  entirely  different  character  and  cast  of  mind. 
His  witticisms  cannot  be  counted. 

From  the  suppression  of  the  Gymnase  Musical  Militaire 
(1856  to  1870)  there  existed  at  the  Conservatoire  classes 
for  Saxophone,  Saxhorn,  Solfeggio  and  Harmony,  for  the 
exclusive  benefit  of  military  pupils,  officers  and  subalterns, 


330  PARIS 

classes  in  which  General  Mellinet,  commander  of  the 
Garde  Imperiale,  who,  as  is  known,  was  music-mad,  took 
particular  interest. 

Either  because  Auber  gave  up  the  presidency  of  the  jury 
to  him,  or  simply  because  of  the  prestige  attached  to  his 
high  personality.  General  Mellinet  exercised  great  influence 
in  the  special  courses  of  these  military  classes,  which  mani- 
fested itself  in  a  benevolent  and  sometimes  excessive  pro- 
pensity to  give  the  greatest  possible  number  of  rewards  to 
those  young  people  who  were  only  allowed  two  years  for 
passing  through  the  school.  One  day  when  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  carried  away  by  his  natural  generosity  some- 
what farther  perhaps  than  was  reasonable,  Auber  said  to  him : 

"  Believe  me.  General,  I  know  the  Conservatoire  better 
than  you,  and  if  you  give  more  rewards  than  there  are 
candidates  it  might  have  a  bad  effect !  " 

The  venerable  balls  that  are  used  at  the  elections  date 
from  the  foundation  of  the  establishment  (1795),  and  have 
never  been  renewed  nor  cleaned.  By  constant  rubbing,  the 
black  ones  have  lost  not  a  little  of  their  tint,  while  the 
white  ones  have  become  considerably  discoloured,  so  that 
now  they  are  almost  all  of  a  uniform  grey,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  attention  is  required  to  distinguish  them  from 
one  another,  especially  in  dull  weather. 

If  I  had  the  honour  of  being  a  journalist,  I  should  un- 
dertake a  campaign  on  this  subject ;  I  should  demonstrate 
that  it  is  to  this  confusion  among  the  balls  that  must  be 
attributed  all  the  absurd  judgments  that  do  not  agree  with 


CONSERVATOIRE  DE  MUSIOUE    331 

mine,  which  are  necessarily  just  and  equitable,  and  I  should 
demand  that  the  balls  be  publicly  washed  before  each 
meeting. 

One  of  the  most  typical  features  of  the  character  of 
Ambroise  Thomas  was  certainly  his  extreme  benevolence, 
his  gentleness  and  his  indulgent  spirit  as  well  as  the  kind- 
ness, reflected  by  his  pensive  gaze  of  a  gentle  philosophy, 
which  often  degenerated  into  weakness  and  sometimes 
manifested  itself  under  the  most  unexpected  forms  in  spite 
of  his  sincere  desire  to  be  exceedingly  firm. 

Among  the  most  amusing  types  of  the  old  professors 
whom  I  have  known  I  must  place  in  the  first  rank  him  who 
was  called  "/^  petit  pere  Elwart"  whose  succession  indi- 
rectly fell  upon  me,  for  Theodore  Dubois  inherited  his  class 
of  harmony  in  1872,  and  I  followed  him  in  1891,  when  he 
succeeded  Leo  Delibes  in  his  composition  class  before  he 
became  Director. 

Elwart's  enduring  fame  among  us  rests  upon  his  tremen- 
dous reputation  as  an  orator  at  banquets,  funerals,  and  mu- 
s\c2i\  fetes  and  reunions  of  every  kind. 

At  the  obsequies  of  Leborne  (also  one  of  our  old  profess- 
ors), he  ended  his  discourse  thus : 

"  Leborne  had  a  great  sorrow  in  his  heart,  he  never  be- 
longed to  the  Institute,  notwithstanding  the  numerous  at- 
tempts he  made  to  get  in." 

Then  bending  down  to  the  ear  of  Victorin  Joncieres, 
from  whom  I  got  this  anecdote,  he  said  :  "  I  said  that  for 
the  sake  of  his  family." 


332  PARIS 

The  above  gentleman  also  told  me  the  following  jest  by 
Berlioz  when  at  the  point  of  death  : 

"If  Elwart  is  to  speak  over  my  tomb,  I'd  rather  not  die 
at  all !  " 

Among  the  public  there  is  a  false  idea  that  the  Conserva- 
toire is  composed  of  bad  characters.  This  is  as  great  an 
error  as  it  would  be  to  pretend  the  contrary.  The  truth  is 
that  its  society  is  greatly  mixed,  as  is  inevitable  in  an  abso- 
lutely free  school  where  the  entrance  is  by  examination  and 
where  among  one's  comrades  one  must  choose  one's  own 
friends  with  the  risk  of  seeing  one's  self  in  the  future 
greatly  embarrassed  by  relations  lightly  formed.  It  will  be 
said  that  it  is  the  same  with  many  other  schools ;  that  is 
true,  but  to  a  less  degree.  All  classes  of  society  are  repre- 
sented at  the  Conservatoire ;  it  is  not  rare  to  see  elbowing 
each  other  there  in  the  same  class  a  youth  who  has  made 
serious  struggles  and  who  is  already  a  bachelor,  or  a  Doc- 
tor of  Laws  and  the  most  ignorant  of  illiterates  ;  the  son 
of  a  millionaire  and  the  son  of  a  small  merchant,  of  the 
proletariat ;  daughters  of  savants,  pastors,  eminent  artists 
and  men  of  letters  together  with  those  whose  parents  exer- 
cise the  most  modest  professions.  This  arises  from  the 
special  artistic  teaching  being  higher  and  more  complete 
than  anywhere  else ;  the  most  fortunate,  those  who  could 
easily  spend  money  on  their  studies,  knock  at  its  door,  and 
it  should  be  a  matter  of  pride  to  belong  to  its  school  which, 
even  if  it  does  not  realize  the  type  of  absolute  perfection, 
which  is  not  of  this  world,  indisputably  holds  its  place  at 


CONSERVATOIRE  DE  MUSIOUE    333 

the  head  of  all  establishments,  not   French  alone  but  Eu- 
ropean, in  which  music  and  theatrical  art  are  taught. 

From  the  great  diversity  of  character  and  nature  presented 
by  the  pupils,  it  results  that  the  Conservatoire  is  a  small 
world  complete  in  itself,  a  microcosm,  and  with  a  slight 
spirit  of  observation  as  well  as  by  the  studies  for  which 
classes  are  provided,  one  may  there  pass  through  the  ap- 
prenticeship of  life,  with  its  struggles,  its  jealousies,  its 
rancours,  and  its  mean  or  terrible  sides  as  well  as  the  friend- 
ships and  devotions  that  form  its  consolation. 


BIBLIOTHEQUE  NATION  ALE 

CHARLES  DICKENS,  JR. 

THE  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  in  Paris,  was  first  be- 
gun by  Charles  V.  of  France,  who  shut  up  his 
nine  hundred  and  ten  volumes  in  the  Tower  of 
the  Louvre,  The  books  had  been  counted  in  1373.  Fifty 
years  afterwards  they  were  all  sold  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford 
for  ^1,220  sterling.  Another  library  was  started,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  Fifteenth  Century  Louis  XL  began  to  take 
some  trouble  about  his  books.  The  collection  was  increased 
by  purchases  made  of  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy,  and  by  the 
pillage  of  the  libraries  of  Naples  and  of  Pavia.  Louis  XIL, 
about  the  year  1500,  caused  all  the  books  to  be  transported 
to  Blois,  where  the  Dukes  of  Orleans  had  a  library  of  their 
own.  Francois  L  afterward  sent  them  all  to  Fontainebleau. 
There  were  then  one  hundred  and  nine  printed  volumes  and 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty-one  manuscripts. 
In  1595  the  collection  was  retransported  to  Paris  ;  and  even 
when  in  Paris  the  books  made  several  journeys.  In  1721 
they  were  placed  in  the  Hotel  Mazarin,  which  stood  on  the 
site  of  the  present  library  in  the  Rue  de  Richelieu.  The 
library  was  first  opened  to  the  public  in  1737;  the  Bibli- 
otheque Mazarine  had  become  public  a  century  earlier. 
During  the  reign  of  Louis  XIII.  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi 

contained    16,750   volumes.     By   means  of  purchases  and 

334 


BIBLIOTHEOUE  NATIONALE       335 

good  care,  in  the  year  1684  there  were  40,000  printed  vol- 
umes and  10,900  manuscripts.  The  Eighteenth  Century 
was  everywhere  one  of  intellectual  development,  and  before 
the  Revolution  broke  out  it  was  estimated  that  there  were 
in  the  library  150,000  volumes.  The  French  authorities 
say  that  they  have  now  under  their  charge  2,000,000  vol- 
umes. Of  these  there  are  440,000  volumes  exclusively 
upon  French  history.  It  is  also  estimated  that  there  are 
more  than  120,000  manuscripts,  2,500,000  prints,  engrav- 
ings, and  charts,  and  that  there  are  more  than  120,000 
medals. 

This  library  at  different  periods  has  been  called  by  differ- 
ent names,  depending  upon  the  title  of  the  head  of  the 
government  in  the  country.  The  appellation  has  some- 
times been  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,  or  Bibliotheque  Royale ; 
again  it  has  been  Bibliotheque  Imperiale ;  now  it  is  Bibli- 
otheque Nationale.  In  the  last  century  there  was  for  a 
short  time  an  idea  to  call  it  Bibliotheque  de  France,  but 
that  title  was  never  officially  recognized. 


BIBLIOTHkQUE  NATIONALE 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

FROM  the  Madeleine  we  were  carried  to  the  Biblio- 
theque  du  Roi,  where  it  was  a  show-day,  and 
where  we  saw  long  tables,  with  gentlemen  reading 
at  them.  Some  very  fine  prints  in  the  little  print  room,  if 
one  had  but  the  time  to  examine  them,  and  some  extraor- 
dinary beautiful  knickknacks  in  the  shape  of  cameos,  gems, 
and  medals.  There  was  Clovis's  armchair,  and  one  of  the 
chessmen  sent  by  Haroun  Alraschid  to  Charlemagne ! 
What  a  relic  !  It  is  about  the  size  of  half  a  tea-caddy — a 
royal  chessman  truly,  think  of  Charlemagne  solemnly  lifting 
it  and  crying  "  Check  !  "  to  Orlando  ! — think  of  the  palace 
of  pictures — Zobeide  has  just  been  making  a  sherbert — 
Haroun  and  the  Grand  Vizier  are  at  tables  there  by  the 
fountain — the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  looks  thought- 
ful, and  shakes  his  mighty  beard — GiafFour  looks  pleased, 
although  he  is  losing.  "  Your  Majesty  always  wins,"  says 
he,  as  he  allows  his  last  piece  to  be  taken.  And  lo  !  yonder 
comes  Mesnour,  chief  of  the  eunuchs ;  he  has  a  bundle 
under  his  arm.  "  Sire,"  pipes  he  in  a  cracked  voice,  "  it 
is  sunset ;  here  are  the  disguises ;  your  Majesty  is  to  go  to 
the  ropemaker's  to-night.  If  Sindbad  should  call,  I  will 
get  him  a  jar  of  wine,  and  place  him  in  the  pavilion  yonder 
by  the  Tigris." 

336 


BIBLIOTHEOUE   NATIONALE      337 

Of  the  rest  of  the  collection  it  is  best  to  say  nothing  : 
there  is  a  most  beautiful,  tender,  innocent-looking  head  of 
young — Nero  ! — a  pretty  parcel  of  trinkets  that  belonged  to 
Louis  XV. 's  Sultanas  (they  may  have  been  wicked,  but  they 
were  mighty  agreeable,  surely) — a  picture  of  Louis  Quatorze, 
all  wig  and  red-heeled  pumps ;  another  of  Louis  XVIIL, 
who,  in  the  midst  of  his  fat,  looks  like  a  gentleman  and  a 
man  of  sense,  and  that  odious,  inevitable,  sickening,  smirk- 
ing countenance  of  Louis-Philippe,  which  stares  at  you 
wherever  you  turn. 


LES  TUILERIES 

IMBERT  DE  SAINT-AMAND 

WHEN,  after  having  contemplated  the  Arc  de  Tri- 
omphe,  illuminated  by  the  setting  sun  as  by 
the  flames  of  an  apotheosis,  one  casts  a  glance 
at  that  magnificent  avenue  of  the  Champs-Elysees,  which 
seems  made  for  ovations,  one  feels  oneself  the  child  of  a 
great  city,  of  the  capital  of  capitals.  Pursuing  one's  w^ay, 
one  looks  with  pride  to  the  right  in  the  distance  on  the  dome 
of  the  Invalides,  close  by  the  Palais  de  I'Industrie,  the  asylum 
of  pacific  victories,  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  nations  But, 
on  arriving  at  the  square  that,  by  an  ironical  antiphrase,  is 
called  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  one  is  seized  with  a  sen- 
timent of  sadness.  Notwithstanding  its  splendours,  its 
obelisk,  its  fountains,  its  double  palace  with  majestic  arcades, 
its  rostral  columns,  and  its  vast  perspectives,  this  gigantic 
place  is  somewhat  lugubrious.  Livid  and  bleeding  shadows 
appear  here,  and  history  evokes  its  most  tragic  memories. 
Where  now  rises  the  obelisk  of  Luxor,  formerly  stood  in 
turn  the  equestrian  statue  of  Louis  XV.,  and  the  Statue  of 
Liberty,  seated  and  wearing  the  Phrygian  cap.  Near  the 
fountains,  for  two  years  uninterruptedly,  stood  the  hideous 
guillotine  that  severed  more  than  fifteen  hundred  heads  on 
that  spot. 

The   victims   and   the  executioners  were  executed  there. 

338 


LES   TUILERIES  339 

After  Louis  XVI.,  Marie  Antoinette,  Madame  Elizabeth, 
the  Girondins,  Charlotte  Corday,  and  Madame  Roland, 
came  the  turn  of  Danton,  Hebert,  and  Robespierre.  While 
gazing  upon  that  accursed  spot,  I  fancy  I  hear  the  roll  of 
the  drum  drowning  the  voice  of  Louis  XVL,  the  son  of 
Saint-Louis,  at  the  moment  when  he  desired  to  address  the 
people  before  ascending  to  heaven.  I  think  I  see  Marie 
Antoinette  casting  a  last  glance  on  the  Tuileries,  her  first 
prison,  before  yielding  up  her  beautiful  soul  to  God.  Ah  ! 
This  square  is  certainly  not  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  j  its 
real  name  should  be  Place  du  Crime.  Where  the  waters 
of  the  two  fountains  are  spouting,  even  if  all  the  streams, 
all  the  rivers  and  all  the  waves  of  the  ocean  were  to  flow, 
they  would  not  suffice  to  efface  the  stains  of  blood  printed 
on  those  stones  which,  like  Lady  Macbeth,  France  would 
never  succeed  in  washing  away. 

I  enter  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  through  the  grille  sur- 
mounted by  stone  celebrities.  I  see  basins,  ancient  trees 
and  statues.  Where  does  this  beautiful  alley  which  is  a 
kind  of  continuation  of  the  avenue  of  the  Champs-Elysees 
and  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  lead  ?  To  ruins  and  what 
ruins  !  What  ?  These  triumphal  ways  lead  up  to  such  a 
spectacle;  is  this  the  last  word  of  all  that  train  of  power 
and  glory  !  I  cannot  believe  my  eyes ;  I  halt  in  surprise 
and  indignation.  The  barbarity  of  modern  vandals  has 
dared  to  imprint  such  a  stigma  upon  the  brow  of  the  great 
capital !  This  is  what  the  demagogic  Erostrates  have  in- 
vented !    This  is  how  they  respect  the  glories  of  France  ! 


340  PARIS 

This  is  what  they  have  made  of  that  illustrious  palace  that 
found  no  protection  by  the  shadow  either  of  Louis  XIV., 
or  of  Napoleon,  that  palace  which  was  also  the  scene  of  the 
exploits  of  the  Convention,  in  which  the  Committee  of  Pub- 
lic Safety  sat,  and  in  which  were  heard  the  voices  of  Marat, 
Danton  and  Robespierre !  I  cannot  familiarize  myself 
with  these  shameful  and  deplorable  ruins  !  I  see  the  terrible 
trace  of  the  vengeance  of  God  in  these  calcined  stones  and  I 
know  not  what  biblical  anathemas  resound  among  this  debris. 
Did  not  Chateaubriand  have  a  sort  of  presentiment  of  the 
fate  of  the  Tuileries  when  he  wrote  in  his  Genie  du  Chris- 
tianisme :  "  There  are  two  kinds  of  ruins  :  the  one,  the 
work  of  time,  the  other,  of  men.  There  is  nothing  dis- 
agreeable in  the  former,  because  nature  works  with  the 
years.  If  they  produce  rubbish,  she  sows  it  with  flowers  ; 
if  they  open  a  tomb,  she  places  a  dove's  nest  in  it.  Cease- 
lessly occupied  in  reproducing,  she  surrounds  death  with  the 
sweetest  illusions  of  life.  The  second  kind  are  devastations 
rather  than  ruins ;  they  offer  only  the  image  of  nothingness 
without  a  reparative  power.  The  work  of  misfortune  and 
not  of  the  years,  they  resemble  white  hairs  on  the  head  of 
youth.  The  destructions  of  man,  moreover,  are  more 
violent  and  complete  than  those  of  the  ages.  The  latter 
undermine  ;  the  former  overthrow.  When,  for  causes  un- 
known to  us,  God  desires  to  hasten  the  ruins  of  the  world, 
He  orders  Time  to  lend  man  his  sickle,  and  with  terror  Time 
sees  us  ravage  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  what  it  has  taken 
him  centuries  to  destroy." 


LES    TUILERIES  341 

And  this  is  what  remains  of  that  palace  which  was  the 
symbol  of  power,  the  sanctuary  of  sovereignty,  the  centre 
and  the  very  heart  of  the  great  nation,  and  which,  more- 
over, so  finely  held  its  place  in  this  magnificent  quadrilat- 
eral ;  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  the  Madeleine,  the  Corps 
Legislatif,  and  the  Tuileries, — glory,  religion,  law,  and 
authority  !  Here  is  that  palace  of  great  hopes  and  great 
catastrophes  in  which  were  born  the  king  of  Rome,  the 
Duke  of  Bordeaux,  the  Comte  de  Paris  and  the  Prince 
Imperial;  that  legendary  palace,  the  objective  of  so  many 
ambitions  and  so  many  regrets,  which  amid  their  cruel  de- 
ceptions seemed  to  be  constantly  before  the  eyes  of  Napoleon 
at  Saint  Helena,  Charles  X.  at  Holyrood,  Louis-Philippe  at 
Claremont,  and  Napoleon  HI.  at  Chislehurst !  What  was 
the  end  of  this  grandiose  palace  ?  Alas  !  Its  last  festival 
was  a  derisive  concert  given  by  the  Commune, 

There  where  incense  had  smoked,  the  odious  oil  of 
petroleum  trickled.  Moscow  was  burned  by  patriotism. 
Paris  was  burned  by  the  crime  of  Ihe-patrie.  What  is  in 
ruins  before  our  eyes  is  not  only  the  Tuileries,  it  is  patriot- 
ism, it  is  honour;  that  is  what  has  been  sacked  and  given 
to  the  flames ;  that  is  what  mad  iconoclasts  have  de- 
stroyed ! 

We  never  make  use  of  the  experiences  of  others.  The 
kings,  the  emperors,  and  the  chiefs  of  the  republic  said  and 
believed  that  the  kingdom,  the  empire,  and  their  public  would 
not  perish.  The  republicans  of  1792  had  the  following 
inscription  placed  upon  the  Tuileries  :  "  Royalty  is  abolished 


342  PARIS 

in  France,  it  will  never  revive,"  Each  of  the  three  dy- 
nasties in  turn  believed  itself  indestructible,  and  in  its 
simplicity  boasted  of  having  forever  brought  the  era  of  revo- 
lution to  a  close. 

Under  the  Second  Empire,  the  Tuileries  arrived  at  the 
height  of  its  splendour.  Joined  to  the  Louvre  it  formed  the 
most  enormous  and  majestic  edifice  in  the  universe.  Gazing 
at  its  debris^  I  called  to  mind  the  evenings  of  the  great 
festivals,  the  staircase  vi^ith  one  of  the  cent-gardes  on  each 
side  of  every  step,  the  brilliancy  of  the  lights,  the  perfume  of 
the  flowers,  the  joyous  sounds  of  the  orchestras,  the  Galerie 
de  la  Paix,  filled  with  brilliant  uniforms  and  elegant  toilettes; 
and  then,  in  the  Salle  des  Marechaux,  the  throng  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  sovereign  and  his  train.  I  hear  the  voice 
of  the  usher  crying  :  "  The  emperor  !  "  and  the  musicians 
playing  "  Partant  pour  la  Syrie"  I  see  the  empress  in  her 
splendid  beauty  covered  with  the  crown  diamonds.  I  see 
the  greatest  personages,  the  ministers,  the  marshals,  the 
ambassadors,  and  often  even  the  foreign  princes  soliciting 
by  their  humble  and  respectful  attitude  a  word,  or  a  glance, 
from  him  who  was  then  regarded  as  the  arbiter  of  Europe. 
Then  the  vision  fades,  the  enchantment  vanishes,  and  I  see 
nothing  but  fragments  of  wall  stained  by  petroleum  and  fire. 

The  two  projecting  wings  that  adjoined  the  pavilions  of 
Marsan  and  Flore,  built  by  Jean  Bullant,  have  been  en- 
tirely razed  since  the  fire,  because  it  was  believed  that  their 
ruins  were  in  danger  of  falling.  Nothing  remains  on  the 
ground    they    occupied.      Etiam    periere    ruinee.     But    the 


LES   TUILERIES  343 

ruins  of  the  five  central  buildings  are  still  standing.  They 
consist  of  the  Pavilion  de  I'Horloge,  the  two  bodies  of  the 
building  to  the  right  and  left,  and  the  two  jutting  pavilions, 
the  work  of  Jean  BuUant,  that  are  continued  to  either  side 
and  that  are  known  as  the  Pavilion  de  Medicis. 

These  five  bodies  of  buildings  of  which  the  ruins  are 
composed  are  precisely  the  ones  that  a  celebrated  arche- 
ologist,  M.  Vitet,  with  great  insistence  demanded  should  be 
preserved  five  years  before  the  fire. 

The  Chateau  des  Tuileries  is  one  of  the  finest  jewels  of 
French  architecture,  and  one  of  the  purest  masterpieces  of 
the  Renaissance.  Look  at  it  in  its  present  misery,  fallen  in 
and  blackened  within  by  the  odious  petroleum.  How  ma- 
jestically it  still  extends  the  harmonious  lines  of  its  gran- 
diose facade  to  the  sunlight !  Admire  all  those  charming 
details  that  even  to-day  beautify  the  edifice  without  injuring 
its  simplicity.  Look  at  those  capitals,  those  columns  and 
those  fragments  of  elegant  sculpture  that  have  almost  been 
respected  by  the  flames.  Does  it  not  seem  that  they  should 
move  the  artist  to  save  them  from  complete  destruction  ? 
The  roofs,  the  vaults  and  the  floors  have  fallen  in  as  well 
as  the  majority  of  the  partition-walls.  But  the  exterior 
walls  with  the  columns  that  ornament  them  are  still  standing. 
Their  restoration  would  be  easy. 

How  beautiful  must  this  legendary  palace  have  been 
when  even  its  ruins  have  preserved  so  grand  and  imposing 
an  aspect  !  Ah  !  how  majestic  they  are  at  night,  when  a 
sense   of  mystery  and    fantasy   envelops   themj  when   the 


344  PARIS 

moon  illumines  them  with  her  white  radiance ;  when  the 
ray  of  some  star  trembles  through  the  joints  of  the  stone- 
work as  through  the  interstices  of  the  bones  of  the  skele- 
ton !  The  neighbouring  clocks  strike  ;  I  look  at  the  empty 
frame  in  the  central  pavilion  in  which  was  the  clock  which 
was  stopped  by  the  action  of  the  fire  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening  on  May  23,  187 1.  I  fancy  I  see  a  crowd  of 
phantoms  peopling  the  solitude  with  the  generations  that 
have  come  to  life. 

How  thrilling  is  this  evocation  of  the  past !  I  see 
Catherine  de  Medicis  pale  at  the  predictions  of  the  astrolo- 
gers ;  the  dazzling  queen  Margot,  exciting  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  Polish  ambassadors ;  Henri  HI.,  fleeing  by  the 
garden  on  the  day  of  the  barricades;  Louis  XIV.,  presiding 
at  the  luxurious  carouse  covered  with  the  crown  diamonds 
like  a  Roman  emperor;  Louis  XV.,  as  a  child  walking 
about  under  the  trees  with  his  little  Spanish  Jiancee.  Here, 
in  the  Salle  des  Machines,  is  the  Theatre  Fran^ais,  as  it 
was  represented  by  the  pencil  of  Moreau  le  Jeune.  I  am 
present  at  the  first  performance  of  the  Barber  of  Seville  and 
at  the  apotheosis  of  the  living  Voltaire.  Then,  with  Louis 
XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette,  the  palace  rises  before  me  like 
the  vestibule  to  the  scaffold.  Then  it  becomes  the  seat  of 
the  Convention.  I  see  the  insurgent  hordes  with  their 
pikes  and  red  caps,  and  the  Furies  of  the  guillotine,  and 
Robespierre  livid  and  with  a  broken  jaw.  Then  it  is  the 
Man  of  Destiny  who  appears.  It  is  the  Consular  guard. 
It  is  the  review  of  the  soldiers  of  Egypt  and  Italy.     It  is 


LES   TUILERIES  345 

Pope  Pius  VIII.  It  is  the  coronation  procession.  The 
kind  Josephine  saddens  me ;  I  suffer  with  her  grief  at  the 
moment  of  the  divorce.  And  now  here  is  Marie  Louise. 
There  is  the  cradle  of  the  king  of  Rome.  After  unheard 
of  splendours,  comes  the  awful  fall  and  the  return  of  Louis 
XVIII.;  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme ;  the  orphan  of  the 
Temple,  who  fainted  at  the  moment  when  women,  robed 
in  white  and  bearing  lilies,  said  to  her:  "Daughter  of 
Louis  XVI.  bless  us  !  "  Less  than  a  year  afterward,  it  is 
Napoleon  whom  I  again  see  borne,  as  on  a  triumphal 
shield,  on  the  arms  of  his  enthusiastic  grenadiers.  Then  it 
is  the  Bourbons  whom  I  see  for  the  second  time.  I  see  the 
Tui!ei-ies  covered  with  black  cloth.  It  is  Louis  XVIII. , 
the  onlv  sovereign  of  France  since  Louis  XV.  who  has 
died  upon  the  throne.  Then,  in  1830,  I  see  the  red-coated 
Swiss  slain  as  on  the  Tenth  of  August,  and  the  wave  of  the 
populace  invading  the  palace.  I  perceive  Louis-Philippe 
reigning,  ceaselessly  menaced  by  assassins;  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  full  of  youth  and  hope,  leaving  the  Tuileries  to 
fall  on  the  road  of  Revolt ;  the  tragic  scenes  of  the  Re\ol- 
ution  of  February,  the  sorrowful  departure  of  the  old  king 
into  exile ;  then  the  pomps  of  the  Second  Empire,  Napo- 
leon III.,  all-powerful,  the  empress  radiant  with  beauty, 
the  cradle  of  the  Prince  Imperial  saluted  by  the  same  accla- 
mations as  those  of  the  King  of  Rome,  the  Duke  of  Bor- 
deaux and  the  Comte  de  Paris  :  the  throng  of  crowned  heads, 
princes  and  princesses  who  have  come  to  the  Tuileries  for 
the   universal   Exposition   of  1867;  and   the  sad  return  of 


346  PARIS 

human  affairs,  the  Fourth  of  September,  the  Commune,  and 
the  modern  Erostrates  who  gave  the  last  entertainment  at 
the  Tuileries  before  burning  it ;  and  from  all  these  varied 
throngs  arises  a  great  clamour.  Sometimes  I  hear  the 
cheers  of  the  people  and  the  army  saluting  the  sovereign, 
sometimes  the  obsequious  voices  of  the  courtiers  who  out 
of  respect  speak  in  low  tones  in  the  palace,  as  in  a  church  ; 
and  sometimes  the  furious  cries  of  invaders  letting  them- 
selves loose  like  a  tempest.  At  length,  all  these  evocations 
disappear,  all  these  shadows  vanish,  and  all  this  tumult  and 
these  echoes  are  hushed.  It  is  night,  it  is  silence,  and  I 
remember,  I  meditate,  and  I  repeat  Massillon's  words  over 
the  coffin  of  Louis  XIV. :  "  God  alone  is  great ! " 


RUE  DE  RIVOLI 

MAX  DE  REVEL 

THE  Rue  de  Rivoli  is  one  of  the  newest  streets  of 
Paris  j  opened  at  the  will  of  the  emperor,  its 
name  is  a  splendid  memorial  of  glory,  for  it  re- 
calls a  victory  won  on  the  14th  of  January,  1797.  It  is  a 
page  torn  from  that  grand  century,  that  century,  if  any,  of 
victorious  memory.  But,  owing  to  its  construction,  it  is 
to-day  an  inexcusable  proof  of  that  bad  taste  that  presided 
over  the  architecture  of  the  empire.  That  colonnade, 
uniformly  square  to  the  eye,  belongs  to  no  order  and  to  no 
style  ;  it  is  simply  a  very  cold,  very  heavy,  and  very  formal 
portico,  a  mass  of  stones  and  slates,  an  exhibition  of  windows 
which  might  well  pass  for  hothouses  with  exterior  balconies. 
The  Restoration,  prevented  from  going  to  sleep  by  the 
laurels  gained  by  the  Empire,  made  an  effort  to  change  the 
name  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  for  the  benefit  of  the  Due  de 
Bordeaux ;  a  bust  was  placed  at  the  two  extremities  of  the 
street  with  this  inscription  :  Rue  du  Due  de  Bordeaux.  On 
the  next  day  the  writing  and  transparency  had  disappeared 
beneath  an  avalanche  of  stones  ;  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  kept  its 
glorious  name,  and  the  dedication  that  they  attempted  to 
introduce  returned,  some  time  afterward,  to  take  possession 
of  a  little   street  which   soon   changed    its   noble  title  for  a 

simple  date:  the  29  Juillet. 

347 


348  PARIS 

Separated  from  the  gardens  of  the  Tuilerles  by  a  high 
wall,  the  ground  that  really  forms  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  was 
cut  into  three  parts  :  the  Assomption^  a  convent  inhabited 
by  nuns  ;  the  Convent  des  Feuillants  ;  and  the  Convent  des 
Capucins.  These  three  monasteries  were  enclosed  between 
the  Rue  Saint-Florentin  and  the  Rue  du  Dauphin  ;  the  rest 
of  the  ground  as  far  as  the  Rue  de  Rohan  was  occupied  by 
the  hospice  of  the  ^inze-Vingts^  built  by  Saint-Louis,  on  a 
piece  of  ground  called  Champourri.  He  had  also  particu- 
larly endowed  this  hospice,  and  an  annual  rent  of  thirty 
livres  had  been  appropriated  to  pay  for  the  soup  of  the  blind. 
In  1779,  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  grand-almoner  of  France, 
transferred  them  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine,  and  upon 
the  very  site  of  the  hospice  opened  two  streets,  one  of  which 
took  the  name  of  Rohan^  and  the  other  ^in-ze-Vingts. 

What  do  I  hear,  what  is  this  tumult,  what  are  these  cries, 
these  flames  starting  from  the  windows  ?  Men  in  arms 
throw  themselves  from  the  houses — it  is  the  Rue  de  Rohan 
receiving  its  baptism  of  blood,  as  it  received  its  baptism  of 
feudality  from  the  hands  of  the  cardinal.  Who  are  these 
two  men  with  fiery  eyes,  bristling  moustaches,  and  lips 
blackened  with  powder  ?  Their  clothes  are  in  disorder — ■ 
they  enter  a  butcher's — a  yelling  crowd  follows  in  their 
tracks — it  besieges  the  door — with  loud  cries  it  demands 
the  heads  of  the  fugitives.  The  door  finally  yields 
to  their  redoubled  efforts.  Two  large  beardless  fellows 
come  to  offer  their  services  to  the  sovereign  people.  In  a 
moment  the  shop  is  visited,  the  most  ardent  searches  lead 


COLONNE   VENDOME. 


RUE  DE  RIVOLI  349 

to  no  result,  no  discovery  ;  the  two  men  have  fled,  and  the 
crowd,  inconstant  and  changeable  in  its  pleasures  as  in  its 
fury,  disperses  and  runs,  matchlock  in  hand,  to  overturn  a 
throne  and  conquer  liberty. 

We  are  in  the  month  of  July,  1830:  these  two  men 
are  the  royal  guards  whom  a  butcher  has  shaved  to  save 
them  from  the  fury  of  the  people — we  are  in  open  revo- 
lution. 

But  the  Rue  de  Rohan  has  returned  to  its  primitive  calm, 
the  pavement  has  resumed  its  place,  the  holes  made  by  the 
balls  have  been  stopped  up,  the  revolution  is  over. 

The  Rue  du  Dauphin  was  one  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte's 
first  stages.  It  was  in  the  Rue  du  Dauphin  that  he  in- 
habited a  dark  and  mean  chamber  on  his  return  from  Italy  ; 
it  is  before  the  Rue  du  Dauphin  that  he  knocked  for  the 
first  time  at  the  castle-door  announcing  himself  by  the  noise 
of  cannon.  It  was  from  the  Rue  du  Dauphin  that  he  de- 
signed the  new  quarter  of  the  Tuileries,  and  the  ball  shot 
from  Saint-Roch  traced  with  a  single  flight  the  Rues  de 
Rivoli,  de  Castiglione,  de  Monthabor,  de  Mondovi  and  des 
Pyramides  and  finally  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  Colonne 
de  la  Place  Vendome. 

The  streets  that  I  have  just  named  and  which  are  success- 
ively rnet  belong  to  the  domain  of  modern  history,  that  is 
to  say,  to  memory  of  the  victories  and  conquests  of  the 
French  army,  the  catalogue  of  which  is  found  on  the 
walls  of  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  de  t Etoile. 

I  cannot  end  this  review  without  speaking  of  two  res- 


350  PARIS 

taurant-keepers  who  made  at  least  their  own  individual 
fortunes,  if  not  the  fortune  of  the  street. 

The  first  is  Lagacque,  and  the  second  Very,  whose 
rooms  were  the  rendezvous  of  the  fashionable  world  of  the 
Directoire  and  the  empire. 

The  cafe  Very  displayed  a  luxury  unheard  of  until  that 
day  :  people  spoke  of  80,000  frances  spent  in  mirrors,  por- 
celains, and  crystal  alone.  It  is  true  that  Lucien  Bona- 
parte often  went  to  dine  at  Very's.  It  is  even  said  that 
one  day  it  was  his  fancy  to  pay  a  bill  of  75,000  francs  ; 
the  habitues  of  the  time  pretended  that  that  was  nothing 
but  a  loan  made  to  the  lady  at  the  desk;  others  have 
maintained  that  it  was  a  purely  gratuitous  gift;  what  is 
certain  is  that  the  cafe^  magnificently  restored,  made  a 
rapid  fortune.  The  Rue  de  Rivoli  is  one  of  the  finest 
streets  of  Paris  as  we  come  from  the  barrier  of  L'Etoile ; 
that  is  the  best  praise  that  we  can  give  it. 


THE  STREET 

THEODORE  DE  BANTILLE 

IN  my  belief  the  caliph  Haroun  al  Raschid  found  the 
best  means  of  being  a  sovereign  well-informed  on 
all  matters  and  that  was  to  walk  the  streets  during 
the  night.  An  excellent  system  at  Bagdad,  and  much 
more  excellent  at  Paris,  where  the  streets  are  endowed  with 
supernatural  life  !  They  possess  life,  thought,  and  soul, 
and,  if  one  knows  how  to  listen  to  them,  they  speak  to 
one.  In  the  commercial  quarters  one  still  hears  vaguely, 
like  an  echo,  the  noise  of  anvils  and  machinery,  the  vibra- 
tion of  matter  at  work ;  while  around  the  Odeon  float  in  the 
air,  as  if  subtilized,  philosophical  ideas,  transcendent  calcu- 
lations and  Homeric  verses.  In  Paris  the  skies,  clouds, 
and  swarming  stars  associate  themselves  with  the  aspects 
of  the  city  in  the  manner  of  stones,  and  these  stones  them- 
selves are  moulded  and  modelled  by  all  the  active  and  fruit- 
ful thought  that  has  moved  about  them  during  the  day. 

He  who,  at  night,  walks  about  the  silent  and  almost 
empty  Paris  knows  more  about  the  movements  of  souls 
and  the  reality  of  things  than  if  he  had  listened  to  many 
conversations  and  turned  over  a  great  heap  of  documents ; 
for  at  that  hour  ideas  are  imbibed  and  inhaled  in  the  still 
vibrating  atmosphere.  Yes,  it  is  good,  it  is  wholesome, 
and   it   is  profitable  to  wander  there  during  the  night ;  but 

351 


352  PARIS 

neither  is  it  bad  to  walk  about  during  the  day  and  mix 
with  the  people,  with  the  throng,  with  the  vast  human 
wave,  which,  like  that  of  the  sea,  tells  its  secret  without 
speaking  and  only  by  its  agitation  and  melodious  murmur. 
If  our  ministers  are  never  kept  informed  of  anything,  it  is 
because  they  do  not  see  the  street,  nor  the  pavements,  but 
live  imprisoned  in  interiors  decorated  in  the  worst  style  of 
the  empire. 

To-day  the  governments  have  their  feet  stuck  down  to 
their  carpets  with  wax ;  but  this  hourgeohe  and  domestic 
mode  is  relatively  recent.  King  Louis-Philippe,  whose 
classically  curled  forelock  casts  a  comic  shadow  over  his- 
tory, always  carried  with  him  an  umbrella  that  has  become 
legendary;  this  certainly  proves  that  he  did  not  fear  to 
walk  abroad,  for  doubtless  he  did  not  yoke  himself  to  this 
scarcely  heroic  though  useful  article  to  stroll  through  the 
apartments  of  the  Tuileries.  His  young  and  charming  son, 
the  Due  d'Orleans  did  not  disdain  to  climb  stairs,  to 
enter  the  rooms  of  writers  and  the  studios  of  artists,  which 
counted  for  much  in  the  great  movement  of  1830,  for  it 
was  an  enormous  encouragement  to  all  those  who  lived 
by  thought  to  know  that  their  works  were  known  and  un- 
derstood in  the  palace  where  the  destinies  of  France  were 
shaped.  Before  these,  an  essentially  ambulatory  prince, 
Napoleon  I.,  wrapped  in  his  big  overcoat,  liked  to  chat  with 
the  merchants  in  their  shops,  to  stroll  with  the  crowd,  to 
pass  along  with  the  others  and  to  laugh  at  liberty  at  the  fibs 
that  his  minister  of  police  told  him.     He  was  no  stranger  to 


THE  STREET  353 

the  street  because  he  had  known  it  of  old,  and  in  the  only 
way  in  which  one  can  know  it  well,  that  is  to  say  by  being 
poor.  He  had  wandered  about  without  a  sou^  and  not  hav- 
ing it,  he  had  grown  so  accustomed  not  to  put  any  money 
in  his  pockets  that  later  when  he  had  plenty,  being  the 
master  of  the  world,  he  still  continued  not  to  put  it  in 
his  pockets,  which  sometimes  exposed  him  to  the  strangest 
adventures.  But  in  that  way,  at  least  he  could  contem- 
plate Truth  entirely  naked  and  not  muffled  in  a  thousand 
tinsel  lies  as  she  was  exhibited  at  the  Tuileries. 

Ah  !  if  the  artist  and  the  poet  want  to  know  the  exact 
value  of  their  glory  they  have  only  to  go  outside  and  look 
at  their  inventions  in  full  sunlight,  and  they  will  see  im- 
mediately whether  they  have  modelled  living  figures  or 
pale  phantoms.  The  women,  who,  in  every  respect,  have 
infinitely  more  good  sense  than  we,  never  content  them- 
selves with  the  shadows,  and  want  their  prey  all  palpitating 
and  bleeding,  know  very  well  where  the  applause  that 
counts  and  real  adoration  are  to  be  found.  If  they  want 
to  know  the  extent  of  their  beauty  and  power,  they  trust 
neither  the  interested  falsehoods  of  their  friends,  nor  the 
envenomed  politeness  of  the  salons ;  but  they  believe  in 
the  effect  that  they  produce  in  the  street  with  their  beauti- 
ful toilettes,  they  are  reassured  by  the  admiration  that  is 
involuntarily  expressed  with  tremendous  oaths ;  and  from 
the  duchess  who  goes  to  Saint-Thomas-d'Aquin,  with 
her  chaste  and  pious  gait,  to  the  brazen  and  melancholy 
prowler  of  the  outer  boulevard,  all  the  women  are  satisfied 


354  PARIS 

if  they  please  the  incorruptible  street  public,  the  only  one 
that  does  not  take  will-o'-the-wisps  for  lanterns,  nor  buy  a 
pig  in  a  poke. 

Baron  Haussmann,  like  a  modern  Hercules,  knew  how 
to  clean  the  sewers  and  make  rivers  flow  through  foul 
stables.  He  has  given  us  air  and  light ;  he  created  capital 
by  making  land  of  value  that  was  disdained  till  that  time, 
and  in  sum,  he  was  endowed  with  a  certain  genius  for 
building ;  but  his  mind  was  lacking  in  one  thing,  he  could 
never  understand  the  soul  of  Paris.  When  his  mad  and 
drunken  pick  overthrew  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  he 
thought  he  had  destroyed  nothing  but  theatres  ;  but  his 
crime  was  much  graver,  he  had  sterilized  the  dramatic 
genius  of  France  for  a  long  time.  No  pieces  without 
actors,  this  is  an  elementary  axiom;  now,  why  were  there 
so  many  great  comedians  at  that  day  and  why  are  there 
fewer  to-day  ?  Remember  that  open  space  on  the  boule- 
vard glittering  with  lights,  swarming,  streaming  and 
crowded  with  busy  shops,  where  an  infinitely  diversified 
Parisian  crowd,  elite  and  popular  at  the  same  time,  but 
ardently  attached  to  the  theatre,  ceaselessly  lounged  and 
moved  about !  The  actors  passed  along  there  on  their  way 
to  their  art,  their  duties  and  their  triumph  ;  they  passed  by, 
no  longer  travestied  and  painted,  dressed  up  in  an  artificial 
character,  but  having  become  themselves  again  under  their 
own  natural  figure,  among  the  people  who  loved  them, 
knew  them  and  lived  with  them  inside  and  outside  the 
theatre.     To  pass  through  this  crowd  was  the  redoubtable 


THE  STREET  355 

and  decisive  proof}  for,  if  the  artist  had  acted  well  on  the 
previous  and  other  evenings,  he  was  saluted  by  long  friendly 
looks;  but  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  had  been  lacking  in 
sincerity,  if  he  had  abandoned  himself  to  conventionality 
and  easy  effects,  he  was  met  by  that  gloomy  indifference 
at  which  heroes  and  kings  themselves  are  inconsolable. 
Ah  !  at  such  a  time  what  cared  a  Deburau,  a  Frederick, 
or  a  Dorval  for  the  jealousy  of  his  rivals,  the  ill-humour 
of  the  papers,  or  the  strained  admiration  of  fashionable 
people  when  the  Parisian  cast  a  glance  at  him  that  said — 
"  I  am  pleased  with  you  !  "  All  this  world,  actors  and 
throng,  were  thick  as  thieves  and  lived  in  a  true  com- 
munion. To-day  they  are  strangers  to  one  another,  they 
no  longer  know  one  another,  and  the  iMuse  also  does  not 
know  them,  because  they  are  no  longer  gathered  together 
and  united  in  ideas  in  common  for  love  of  her. 

The  Street  knows  everything,  and  foresees  everything, 
and  without  her,  nobody  knows  anything.  If,  notwith- 
standing many  excellent  and  superior  masterpieces,  modern 
comedy  has  not  succeeded  in  painting  modern  life,  it  is  be- 
cause, by  a  false  idea  of  dignity,  by  prudery  to  speak  plainly, 
she  has  imprisoned  herself  in  the  salons  and  the  common 
people  are  unknown  to  her.  Moliere's  comedy,  like  Shakes- 
peare's and  Aristophanes',  knows  the  streets  and  yields 
herself  to  the  kiss  of  the  sunlight.  Ours,  muffled  up,  up- 
holstered and  barricaded  between  folding-screens,  does  not 
know  whether  it  is  winter  or  summer,  day  or  night,  nor 
whether  the  place  in  which  she  dwells  is  a  populated  city  or 


356  PARIS 

a  desert.  She  is  even  absolutely  ignorant  whether  there  has 
been  a  revolution  or  if  the  form  of  government  has 
changed. 

This  is  like  our  deputies,  moreover.  For  shut  up  in 
what,  by  blameworthy  ignorance  of  the  French  language, 
they  persist  in  calling  an  enceinte^  one  might  burn  Paris  and 
scatter  its  ashes  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven  without  their 
knowing  anything  about  it. 

Ah  !  the  meanest  Gavroche,  an  habitue  of  the  pavement 
and  companion  of  the  wandering  sparrows,  is  a  historian 
and  a  politician  far  more  than  they.  By  the  attitude  and 
by  the  greater  or  less  ardour  of  the  enthusiasts  who  tear  up 
the  first  paving-stone,  he  knows  immediately  what  is  com- 
ing and  whether  it  is  a  matter  of  an  affray,  a  riot  or  a  revo- 
lution. He  is  also  a  very  good  art  critic  j  for  him,  the 
goddess  of  the  Rude,  flying,  cuirassed  with  scales,  shouting 
her  refrain  through  the  affrighted  skies,  is  the  real  Marseil- 
laise^ whilst  certain  ladies  in  marble,  crowned  with  ears  of 
corn  or  stars,  represent  to  him  not  the  Republic  but  merely 
astronomy  or  agriculture. 

At  the  new  Hotel  de  Ville,  standing  in  their  niches,  the 
great  Parisians  are  in  full  view ;  so  that  for  them  the  judg- 
ment of  posterity  has  been  made.  There  are  certain  among 
them  who  are  at  home  there  and  natural,  and  others  who 
will  be  stupefied  and  eternally  in  a  strange  land.  The  peo- 
ple adopt  those  who  in  their  souls  were  sincerely  of  the 
people ;  those,  on  the  contrary,  who  lied,  courted  popularity, 
and  proflFered  vain   words  will  always  look  as  if  they  are 


THE  STREET  357 

wondering  where  they  have  left  their  hats  and  are  only 
on  a  visit.  The  pavement  does  not  know  them,  has  not 
wanted  to  learn  their  names  and  disowns  them. 

When  you  have  shut  yourself  up  in  the  enceinte^  you 
naively  imagine  that  the  questions  of  ministers,  men  and 
cabinets  are  real  questions,  and  that  the  breast  of  commissions 
is  a  real  breast  capable  of  suckling  some  one  or  nourishing 
something ;  go  down  into  the  street  and  without  any  one 
having  to  teach  you  the  lessoii,  you  will  immediately  see 
that  there  are  many  other  fish  to  fry.  You  will  see  all 
those  people,  men,  women,  old  men,  and  children  going  to 
their  task,  courageous  and  sad  because  they  are  anxious  to 
work  with  all  their  strength,  but  notwithstanding  their 
courage  they  see  before  them  the  ever-threatening  spectre 
of  hunger.  You  will  see,  alas,  vice  devouring  such  youth- 
ful prey  that  its  cannibal  feast  makes  the  stones  weep,  I 
am  quite  aware  that  these  pale  young  girls  might  go  and 
ask  for  work  at  the  Bon  Marche,  or  the  shops  of  the 
Louvre ;  but  perhaps  they  would  be  told  that  the  places 
were  already  filled. 

In  any  case,  go  down  into  the  street  and  walk  about  and 
it  will  be  time  well  spent.  Long  ago  an  author  who  trem- 
bled with  fear  on  his  way  to  the  Opera-Comique,  where  a 
piece  of  his  was  to  be  played,  and  who  had  the  dramatic 
author's  colic,  was  radically  cured  of  his  ill  on  crossing  the 
Place  des  Victoires,  where  men  with  bloody  arms  were  car- 
rying the  Princesse  de  Lamballe's  head  on  the  end  of  a 
pike.     You  will  not  see  such  spectacles  to-day,  but  you  will 


358  PARIS 

come  across  others  that  will  have  their  value.  You,  sir, 
infatuated  with  your  novel  that  seems  to  you  to  be  superior 
to  Iliad,  or  with  your  sonnet  that  you  prefer  to  those  of 
Ronsard,  on  noticing  that  there  are  many  more  mouths 
than  loaves  and  many  more  feet  than  shoes,  you  will  have 
food  for  reflection.  You  will  also  realize  that  in  the  open 
air  certain  great  men  are  no  longer  great,  just  as  certain 
beautiful  women  are  no  longer  at  all  beautiful,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  in  the  salons  they  make  you  swallow  anything 
they  like,  but  that  the  street  is  not  so  silly. 


PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE 

RICHARD  WHITEING 

THE  Place  de  la  Concorde  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  effective  in  Paris,  both  for  the  views  it 
commands — the  Church  of  the  Madeleine,  the 
Arc  de  I'Etoile,  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  the  Garden  of 
the  Tuileries,  etc.,  etc. — and  for  its  ample  size  and  embel- 
lishments. Of  the  tw^o  large  buildings  to  the  north  facing 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  the  one  to  the  right,  looking 
toward  the  Madeleine,  is  the  ministry  of  marine,  that  to 
the  left  (in  part)  a  clubhouse,  and  for  the  rest  a  private 
residence.  The  Place  has  undergone  many  transformations, 
but  it  was  laid  out  as  it  stands  now  under  Napoleon  III. 
It  was  the  scene  of  the  awful  accident  at  the  marriage  re- 
joicings of  Louis  XVI.,  when  a  terrified  rush  of  an  excited 
crowd  resulted  in  as  much  slaughter  as  a  great  battle,  killing 
twelve  hundred  outright  and  wounding  twice  as  many  more. 
Later  on,  the  guillotine  of  the  Revolution  occupied  this 
spot  and  here  perished  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette, 
Charlotte  Corday,  the  Girondins,  Philippe-Egalite,  Danton, 
Camille  Desmoulins,  Robespierre,  Saint  Just,  and  nearly  three 
thousand  others,  all  in  about  two  years.  In  1814  Prussian 
and  Russian  troops  were  bivouacked  in  the  Place,  in  18 15 
English  troops,  and  in  187 1  Prussian  troops  again.  There 
was  desperate  fighting  here  during  the  Commune,  and  the 

359 


360  PARIS 

barricade  of  the  Rue  Royale,  the  street  leading  to  the  Made- 
leine, was  one  of  the  most  formidable  in  Paris.  The  beau- 
tiful obelisk  of  Luxor  in  the  centre  was  presented  to  Louis- 
Philippe  by  Mehemet  Ali,  and  the  French  engineers  were 
not  a  little  proud  of  their  success  in  transporting  it  to  France 
and  setting  it  upon  its  pedestal.  Intaglios  on  the  granite 
base  illustrate  the  method  of  transport  and  removal,  and  this 
is  further  exemplified  by  detailed  models  in  one  of  the 
museums.  The  monolith  belongs  to  the  epoch  of  Rameses 
11.  (Sesostris  the  Great),  in  the  Fourteenth  Century  n.  c,  and 
it  records  his  achievements  as  Lord  of  the  Earth  and  Anni- 
hilator  of  the  Enemy.  .  .  .  The  eight-seated  figures 
round  the  Place  are,  or  were  when  they  were  done,  repre- 
sentative of  the  eight  chief  towns  of  France — Lille,  Stras- 
bourg, Bordeaux,  Nantes,  Rouen,  Brest,  Marseilles,  and 
Lyons.  Strasbourg  (in  the  northeast  corner  near  the  Tuil- 
eries),  it  will  be  observed,  wears  perpetual  mourning  of 
funeral  wreaths  on  account  of  her  separation  from  the 
mother  country.  The  space  in  front  of  this  statue  is  often 
the  scene  of  patriotic  demonstrations. 


^^A  ■^^^.'ps/r^/nsO''^ 


PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE 

THEOPHILE  GAVTIER 

IN  crossing  the   Place  de  la  Concorde  do  not  neglect  to 
throw  a  glance  at  the  fountain. 
You  will   see   between   other   figures   more  or  less 
allegorical   and   mythological,  the  Triton   and   Tritontje  by 
Antonin  Moine. 

It  is  indeed  the  true  Triton  of  the  opera  as  Boucher  and 
Vanloo  understood  it ;  nothing  more  undulous,  more  sug- 
gestive of  the  sea,  more  glaucous  and  more  squamous 
could  be  imagined. 

The  Nereid  is  wreathed  with  scallops,  corals,  and  sea- 
weed in  infinite  taste ;  her  bracelets  and  necklaces  of  shell- 
work  give  her  a  great  richness  of  ornamentation,  which  is 
perfectly  harmonious  with  a  decorative  figure.  The  other 
personages,  seated  in  a  circle  under  the  basin  of  the  foun- 
tain, like  the  old  clothes-dealers  of  the  market-place  under 
their  umbrella  of  red  linen  are  not  at  all  elegant,  and  by 
their  rigidity  and  awkwardness  contrast  with  the  disinvol- 
ture  and  the  vivacity  of  Antonin  Moine's  statues. 

The  water  is  thrown  from  the  mouth  of  fishes,  dolphins, 
and  other  designs  from  the  ocean,  conveniently  pierced 
with  holes  for  this  purpose. 

When   the   figures  of  the   piedouche  can  only  be  seen 

361 


362  PARIS 

through  the  crystal  fringe  and  the  shower  of  pearls  which 
fall  from  the  upper  basin,  the  general  aspect  does  not  lack 
a  certain  tufted  and  rich  efFect. 

We  have  waited  for  water-works  with  impatience,  for 
what  above  all  else  characterizes  monuments  of  this  species 
is  the  complete  absence  of  what  our  fathers  called  the  humid 
element  j  in  a  fountain  there  is  always  bronze,  iron,  lead, 
cement,  and  cut  stone ;  there  is  everything  except  water. 

In  Paris,  the  use  of  the  fountain  is  a  true  sinecure ;  how- 
ever, this  is  so  near  the  river  that  it  would  take  only  a  very 
ill  will  to  make  it  dry ;  she  will  have  much  to  do  even  with 
the  aid  of  her  sisters  to  refresh  the  disheartening  aridity  of 
this  Sahara  of  dust  and  melted  bitumen  where  the  prome- 
naders  get  caught  and  stuck  by  the  feet  like  flies  upon  raisine 
(preserve  of  grapes  and  pears). 


THE  tlYStE 

ARS^NE  HOUSSATE 

WE  are  in  1728,  five  years  after  the  death  of  the 
Regent.  A  prince  of  the  house  of  Bouillon, 
the  Comte  d'Evreux,  has  ordered  the  archi- 
tect, Mollet,  to  build  him  a  palace  worthy  of  a  Highness,  a 
miniature  Versailles  on  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honore. 

Seventeen  hundred  and  twenty-eight !  O  flourishing 
years  of  royalty  !  Louis  XV.  is  reigning.  Cardinal  Fleury 
is  governing ;  all  around,  France  is  amusing  herself.  At 
the  Comte  d'Evreux's,  as  at  so  many  other  lodges  haunted 
by  the  demigods  of  the  court,  wine  flows,  women  are  beau- 
tiful, and  philosophy  is  smiling !  Lagrange-Chancel  would 
grow  indignant  on  watching  all  these  stepsons,  titled  cour- 
tiers of  Trimalcion,  who  perhaps  the  next  night  will  sneak 
into  Locusta's ;  on  listening  to  all  these  railing  madmen 
who  hum  such  biting  couplets  against  the  patriarchs  of 
Genesis  and  the  apostles  of  the  New  Testament !  As  for 
us,  let  us  laugh  !  Madame  de  Tencin  also,  purple  with 
erudition  and  the  wine  of  Romance,  has  sworn  that  in  less 
than  a  month  she  will  submit  to  the  company  a  methodical 
plan  of  "  Greek  and  Roman  recreations,"  in  which  the 
actors  will  be  costumed  according  to  the  nature  and  spirit 
of  their  parts ;  Jean  Baptiste  Vanloo  is  in  ecstasy  over  all 
these   couples  whom  he  will   reproduce  with  the  sentiment 


364  PARIS 

of  an  amorous  page ;  and,  amid  clinking  bottles  and  ex- 
changed kisses,  if  a  stoic  had  the  courage  to  scowl  with  his 
morose  brow,  he  would  hear  issuing  from  the  walls  and 
ceilings  like  an  echo  of  eternal  wisdom  these  subtle  words 
by  an  ambassador  who  had  been  admitted  to  an  entertain- 
ment of  Leo  X. :  *'  Buona  Persona^  ma  vuole  viveve !  " 
(Good  persons,  but  who  want  to  live  !) 

They  want  to  live,  all  these  guests  of  a  soiree  that  is 
renewed  every  evening  in  the  palace  of  the  Comte  d' 
Evreux,  and  they  would  want  to  live  still  more  when  the 
Comte  d' Evreux  is  no  longer  master  in  that  house  !  For 
the  new  owner  of  MoUet's  masterpiece  is  not  made  to  let 
this  temple  of  gay  knowledge  and  gay  adventure  be  idle. 
After  the  Comte  d'Evreux  the  house  belongs  by  purchase 
to  Jeanne  Poisson,  Madame  de  Lenormand  I'Etioles,  to 
her  who  by  the  effort  of  her  will  and  the  magic  of  her 
sweet  face  has  become,  by  increase,  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour, President  of  Paphos  and  Archduchess  of  Cythera. 
On  the  eve  of  Fontenoy,  in  spite  of  Madame  de  Prie, 
Madame  Vintimille,  and  Madame  de  Mailly,  when  the 
people,  who  nevertheless  knew  the  good  Marie  Leczinska, 
still  called  Louis  XV.  their  Well-Beloved  King,  Madame 
de  Pompadour  installed  herself,  like  an  encyclopaedist 
Astraea,  in  this  Forez  des  Champs  Elysees,  and  she  abol- 
ished the  enclosures  and  extended  the  gardens  at  pleasure ! 
In  fact,  deepen  yourselves,  ye  light  shadows  under  which 
so  many  Daphnes  and  Amaranthes  have  already  sported  ! 
Like   that  odorous   cloud    of  Homeric    Ida,   screen    those 


THE  ELYSEE  365 

scenes  of  confused  disorder  in  which  the  king  deceives  the 
queen  and  Jeanne  Poisson  deceives  the  king  !  If  it  may 
be,  let  us  ignore  forever  those  silvery  nights  when  the  lady 
is  going  to  yield  herself  a  willing  captive  to  the  gallant 
speeches  of  that  devil  of  a  fellow,  Gentil-Bcrnard,  fine, 
false,  and  courteous,  like  a  brelan  of  Dauphinois  seeking 
fortune  !  Let  us  not  see,  like  an  abbe  de  Choisy  and  an 
abbe  de  Gondi  rolled  into  one,  the  abbe  de  Bernis  lying  in 
wait  for  his  cardinalate  in  the  i>emi-royal  oratory  and  paying 
the  earnest  money  of  a  European  war  with  a  song  !  Pass 
on  quickly,  Voltaire,  ironical  flatterer  of  all  these  im- 
provised majesties  whom,  you  well  divine.  King  Voltaire 
must  survive  !  Pass  on,  for  this  time  your  lips,  usually 
better  inspired,  would  only  whistle  an  impertinent  distich 
upon  Pompadour-Pompadourette !  Pass  on  quickly,  Mar- 
montel ;  your  new  Conte  moral  is  too  immoral  for  our  cir- 
cles of  the  present  day  who  no  longer  value  morality  ! 
Pass  on  quickly,  petulant  Cresset,  and  you,  Eschyle-Crebil- 
lon,  and  you  also,  Salluste-Duclos !  Pass,  fleeting  stars 
that  from  all  Europe  come  almost  all  together  to  shine 
upon  this  magnetic  roof!  Pass,  Hume,  Galliani,  and  the 
others!  Elsewhere  I  would  willingly  salute  youj  else- 
where it  would  please  me  to  recognize  what  generous  at- 
traction draws  you  to  Paris,  as  Dante,  Tasso,  Lope  de  Vega 
were  drawn  before  you,  and  Shakespeare  also,  I  hope  !  But 
in  these  verdurous  surroundings,  so  near  that  edifice  cer- 
tainly dedicated  to  mysterious  Graces,  even  when  to  your 
select  troop  is  added  one  of  the  familiar  oracles  of  the  free 


366  PARIS 

school,  M.  de  Montesquieu  celebrating  vespers  in  the 
church  of  Gnide,  instead  of  you  in  this  garden  I  should 
like  to  meet  some  gallant  of  twenty  years  fastening  his 
silken  ladder  to  the  gratings,  and  with  his  personal  poetry 
creating  a  Beatrice,  a  Laura,  or  a  Juliette,  under  this 
frivolous  reign  of  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Pompadour, 
on  the  eve  of  the  libertine  reign  of  Madame  la  Comtesse 
Dubarry. 

The  Marquise  often  came  to  charm  away  her  ennui  in 
this  garden  that  she  had  made  a  park  of.  Here  she  relaxed 
after  too  closely  working  over  some  etching  !  Here  to  the 
spring  breezes  she  opened  her  breast,  irritated  under  the 
double  ladder  of  its  rose  ribbons,  after  some  incendiary 
luncheon  eaten,  in  spite  of  Dr.  Quesnay,  expressly  to  bal- 
ance the  growing  influence  of  Mile,  de  Romans  and  to 
participate  in  the  tastes  of  the  master  I 

On  the  death  of  the  Marquise,  her  mansion  fell  to  her 
brother,  M.  de  Marigny,  of  whom  there  is  nothing  to  say 
except  that  in  his  capacity  as  superintendent  of  buildings 
he  worked  a  good  deal  for  the  embellishment  of  the  city 
and  that  he  had  the  merit  of  remaining  a  very  honest  man ; 
being  the  brother  of  a  favourite,  such  a  short  time  before 
Jean  Dubarry !  And  then  from  the  hands  of  M.  de 
Marigny,  the  Hotel  d'Evreux  reverted,  by  a  natural  trans- 
mission it  seems  to  me,  to  the  royal  domain  which  arranged 
a  series  of  apartments  there  furnished  for  the  ambassadors 
extraordinary  to  the  Court  of  France,  and  which  provision- 
ally lodged  there  the  crown  jewels  and  chattels,  the  monu- 


THE  ELYSEE  367 

ment  of  the  Place  Louis  XV.  not  yet  being  completed. 
Abode  of  M.  de  Marigny  or  jewel  safe,  the  £lysee  matters 
little  to  us  ;  for  what  decides  the  destiny  of  dwellings  is 
only  the  imprint  left  upon  them  by  memorable  tenants.  But 
patience !  The  Hotel  d'Evreux  is  about  to  resume  its 
rights  in  our  interest,  and  the  new  chapters  of  its  history 
will  naturally  join  these  brilliant  prologues  that  illumined 
the  most  brilliant  years  of  the  Eighteenth  Century  with  a 
voluptuous  glow. 

In  1773,  M.  de  Beaujon,  the  Samuel  Bernard  of  a  more 
prodigal  generation,  the  intelligent  Turcaret  who  willingly 
entered  into  bonds  of  friendship  with  Lesage,  bought  from 
the  king  this  magnificent  inn  of  extra-official  diplomacy 
which  had  become  almost  useless,  thanks  to  the  discredit 
into  which  the  already  moribund  monarchy  had  fallen  in  the 
eyes  of  Europe. 

Under  the  protectorate  of  the  financier,  the  mansion  in- 
creased still  more  and  adorned  itself.  The  labours  of 
Boullee,  one  of  the  Mansards  of  the  day,  agreeably  com- 
pleted the  work  of  Mollet,  and  the  Praxiteles  of  the  time 
were  all  occupied  in  peopling  the  groves.  But  why  so 
many  armed  Cupids  under  the  boughs  ?  Their  arrows 
would  scarcely  trouble  the  heart  of  the  farmer  of  the  reve- 
nue, or  of  the  facile  beauties  he  harboured.  If  La  Guimard 
and  La  Dervieux  left  the  diabolical  Paradise  of  the  Rue 
Chantereine  to  amuse  themselves  in  these  alleys  and  grot- 
toes ;  if  by  their  side  more  than  one  Cydalise  of  high  rank 
forgot  all  the  quarterings  of  her  nobility  and  of  her  virtue 


368  PARIS 

in  the  Hotel  Beaujon,  it  was  not  love  that  led  or  held  them 
there.  Love  will  never  have  the  courage  to  become  a 
clerk  under  M.  Beaujon,  the  banker  ! 

For  the  rest,  It  is  not  in  his  halls  or  park  that  Nicolas 
Croesus  cared  to  seek  that  salutary  dew  of  the  heart  that 
makes  amends  for  millions ;  he  pursued  the  divine  illusion 
of  desire  further  up  in  the  faubourg  that  he  enriched  and 
created,  beside  that  hospital  that  still  reminds  the  poor  of 
the  name  of  that  rich  man  who  took  the  trouble  to  place 
Lazarus  at  his  side.  In  his  mansion  M.  de  Beaujon  ap- 
pears to  us  at  a  distance,  not  as  one  of  those  philanthropists 
who  had  lived  for  the  good  of  all,  but  as  one  of  those 
wearied  ones  who  have  lived  without  profit  to  others  and  to 
their  own  disgust ;  not  like  a  Necker  more  useful  and  less 
pedantic,  but  like  a  Pococurante,  sadder  even  in  his  Paris 
than  the  amphitryon  of  Candide  ever  was  in  his  Venice  ! 

In  1786,  a  new  owner  and  new  fortunes  !  The  last 
Duchess  of  Bourbon  with  her  princely  ascendancy  purified 
these  walls  that  still  reeked  with  the  scent  of  vulgar  amours 
and  parvenue  opulence.  In  the  Hotel  Beaujon  she  is  truly 
a  queen  in  her  place.  The  other  queen  sometimes  stayed 
in  this  Parisian  Trianon,  proud  to  govern  here  more  by  her 
white  hand  and  her  delicate  wit  than  by  the  right  of  her 
doubly  royal  birth.  Oh  !  if  a  painter  could  only  portray 
for  us  one  o(  those  fetes  in  which  the  queen  of  France  was 
merely  Marie  Antoinette,  and  Cagliostro's  oracles  had  no 
fatality  in  them,  nor  M.  de  Lauzun's  vows  anything  in- 
discreet !      Outside,  the  noisy  gaiety  of  the  Parisians  rack- 


THE  ELYSEE  369 

eting  in  the  Place  Louis  XV.  and  at  the  spectacles  of  the 
Saint-Ovide  fair  prevents  the  Archduchess  of  Austria  from 
recalling,  like  a  sinister  vision,  the  fatal  fireworks  that  sad- 
dened the  people  during  the  solemnities  of  her  arrival ;  in- 
side, Florian  rhymes,  Gretry  sings,  Chamfort  rails,  the 
Comte  d'Artois  smiles  on  everybody,  the  Comte  de  Prov- 
ence meditates  a  quatrain,  the  Comtesse  Jules  is  in  high 
good  humour,  Madame  de  Lamballe  multiplies  her  innocent 
coquetries  and  the  Duchess  of  Bourbon  is  enchanted  at  the 
enchantment  of  all  her  guests  !  But  painters  are  hardly 
willing  to  draw  such  portraits  ;  they  tremble  lest  before  the 
work  is  finished  they  see  the  spectre  of  the  gardener  Sanson 
cutting  off  the  heads  of  so  many  amiable  creatures  who 
would  still  like  to  live,  and  embalming  the  whole  bunch  of 
these  fair  roses  in  the  warm  blood  of  his  basket. 

The  Revolution  laid  its  hand  upon  the  delicate  sessions 
of  the  palace  where  so  brilliantly  blossomed  the  prosperity 
of  the  last  heir  but  one  of  the  Condes.  .  .  .  The 
Tuileries  were  disinherited  of  the  memories  that  had  been 
inscribed  there  throughout  by  the  descendants  of  Henri 
IV.  and  the  palace  of  Cours-la-Reine  was  dispossessed  of 
the  charming  prestige  in  which  it  had  been  enveloped  by 
that  princess  of  an  enchanted  isle,  Madame  la  Duchesse  de 
Bourbon. 

Nevertheless  1793  was  not  a  bad  year  for  the  Hotel  de 
Pompadour  and  de  Bourbon.  At  that  day  it  was  declared 
national  and  there  is  nothing  in  that  to  make  us  indignant. 
That  is  fate,  the  common  shipwreck ;  but  the  day  when 


370  PARIS 

the  guillotine  came  to  a  halt,  the  day  when,  instead  of 
Thermidorian  barkings,  Paris  heard  lispings  of  the  gilded 
youth,  the  day  when  Therezia  Cabarrus  forgot  her  old 
character  of  conventional  Themis  and  resuscitated  Venus 
for  the  Directory  and  the  directors,  the  mansion  should 
have  fallen  into  ruins  and  the  echo  of  the  gardens  should 
have  prolonged  its  maledictions  in  thunder-claps ;  for, 
truly,  if  we  pity  the  young  captive,  if  Mile,  de  Coigny, 
condemned  to  the  gross  familiarities  of  Saint-Lazare, 
moves  us  like  Polyxena  or  Jeanne  d'Arc  herself,  why  should 
we  not  also  have  tears  for  this  monument  of  so  many 
grandeurs  of  a  whole  century,  which,  as  the  century  was 
ending,  became  a  public  ballroom  ?  There  where  used  to  sing 
so  many  of  those  birds  that  found  good  supper  and  good 
lodging  in  Madame  de  Pompadour's  downy  nest ;  there 
where  Voltaire  Apollo  imposed  the  tune  and  rhythm  upon  so 
many  obedient  lyres,  we  must  now  listen  to  the  bow  of  the 
manager  of  a  hostelry  ball.  In  those  glasses,  that  mirrored 
those  rare  persons  of  whom  pastels  after  a  hundred  years 
still  translate  for  us  a  flowering  legend  of  elegancies  and 
passions,  in  those  glasses,  the  Atheniennes  who  beg  from 
Barras  dare  to  look  at  themselves.  They  run  toward  that 
garden,  toward  that  Elysee  (they  called  that  the  Elysee,  a 
bacchanal  in  which  Homer  would  not  have  dared  to  com- 
promise Thersites  !)  toward  that  hamlet  of  Chantilly  (they 
evoked  the  images  of  the  noble  castle  in  which  Conde 
wept,  and  Bossuet  surpassed  Demosthenes,  and  the  abbe 
Prevost  taught    French    to    Manon,  to    form    a   cortege  to 


THE  ^LYSEE  371 

those  infamous  heroines  who  would  have  refused  inter- 
course with  the  chamber  women  of  the  great  century), 
they  ran,  those  Agaves  at  the  Revolution  that  is  halting, 
perorating  upon  Greece  and  representing  to  the  utmost 
the  evil  days  of  decrepit  Rome  howling  lechery  in  the 
orgies  of  the  good  goddess ;  they  come,  a  worthy  escort  to 
those  female  Olympians  of  carnival,  whose  fathers  have 
spoken  beneath  the  knife  and  died  while  insulting  the  axe, 
the  club-women  of  Clichy,  sterile  progeny  of  the  Cazalis 
and  the  Sombreuils ;  they  come  upon  the  steps  of  Madame 
Tallien  to  dance  to  the  honour  of  the  victims.  Entire  Paris 
is  at  work  in  debauches  of  the  kitchen  and  the  dance :  the 
Elysee  is  one  of  its  favourite  little  houses :  it  is  here  that 
they  set  off  the  fireworks  that  with  the  most  vivid  gleams 
light  up  all  those  deliriums  and  all  those  abasements  of  the 
French  conscience.  Let  us  not  linger  too  long  over  this 
picture,  and  in  order  that  we  may  retain  only  an  agreeable 
image  of  the  palace  that  has  kept  the  name  of  L'  Elysee, 
let  us  picture  to  ourselves,  mingling  with  those  groups  and 
conspiring  the  defeat  of  all  hearts,  the  two  new  virtuosos 
of  Parisian  coquetry,  Madame  Hamelin,  the  Creole,  and 
Madame  Recamier  of  Lyons.  They  pass :  one,  the  more 
provoking,  more  rapid  in  the  play  of  glances  and  in  burn- 
ing lip  sallies  ;  the  other,  more  gentle,  more  secret,  more 
melodious ;  they  pass :  in  a  moment  both  are  going  to 
dance  that  shawl  dance  in  which  they  excel,  and  when  they 
stop  fatigued  by  the  motion  and  still  more  tired  by  the 
plaudits  than  by  their  voluptuous  undulations,  they  will  fall 


372  PARIS 

upon  those  low  divans  in  those  somewhat  mysterious 
boudoirs  where  they  will  repose  to  the  music  of  orchestrated 
compliments  by  those  two  great  flatterers,  Garat  who  has 
just  triumphed  at  the  clavecin,  and  General  Bonaparte  who 
has  just  triumphed  at  Toulon. 

General  Bonaparte  !  Do  not  hope  henceforth  to  escape 
this  name  that  fills  every  corner  of  the  history  of  Paris 
and  of  the  world. 

In  1803,  Murat  buys  the  profanated  palace.  On  this 
eve  of  the  Empire,  the  brother-in-law  of  the  future  em- 
peror, with  his  somewhat  gorgeous  genius,  arranges  for  him- 
self a  dwelling  for  a  prince  of  the  blood.  It  is  there  that 
the  Ajax,  the  Turnus  of  the  modern  epic,  furbishes  his 
arms,  dreams  of  a  throne  and  in  a  facile  intermediary  of 
happiness  seeks  the  secret  of  his  future  exploits.  About 
him  Victory  sounds  her  clarions  and  Love  sighs  his  elegies. 
Blangini  takes  notes  for  a  romance  for  Princess  Borghese 
who  tarried  in  Canova's  studio,  Caroline-Andromache  al- 
ready esteems  herself  more  than  a  queen  since  she  reposes 
on  the  tenderness  of  her  Hector,  her  Joachim,  and  the  em- 
peror is  pleased  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  universe 
to  give  them  to  these  quotidian  solemnities  of  the 
penates. 

When  Murat,  the  soldier,  had  become  a  king,  the  em- 
peror who  loved  the  Elysee  appropriated  it,  and  after  1808 
it  was  one  of  his  favourite  abodes.  There  he  could  con- 
verse with  his  confidantes  and  even  with  those  audacious 
intelligences   rebellious   to    his    sceptre  whom    he    did  not 


THE  ELYSjfcE  373 

hate  as  much  as  has  been  beHeved.  There  you  come  O 
Fontanes,  Talma,  Cambaceres,  Reynouard,  and  yourself  O 
Ducis,  gentle  misanthrope  !  There  the  infant  who  did  not 
reign  over  Rome  tried  his  first  steps  before  his  delighted 
father  !  There,  perhaps,  the  sublime  partitioner  divided  the 
patrimony  of  Russia  among  the  children  who  were  not 
and  never  would  be  born  !  There  also,  on  that  sinister 
night  of  June  21,  18 15,  he  alighted  a  passenger,  already 
almost  a  fugitive,  coming  to  announce  to  Paris  that  it  was 
in  vain  that  he  had  conquered  at  Ligny,  at  Charleroi,  at 
Quatre-Bras,  and  that  it  would  be  well  to  interrupt  the  Te 
Deums  and  more  fitting  to  intone  a  vast  De  Profundis  on  ac- 
count of  Waterloo  and  crucified  France !  There  perhaps 
the  overthrown  giant  tasted  the  last  intoxication  of  his 
majesty. 

A  few  days  afterward,  the  fallen  abandoned  the  £lysee 
(and  then  Malmaison  for  Rochefort),  Napoleon  II.  was 
placed  in  the  care  of  an  Austrian  commissary  and  mean- 
while the  £lysee  was  bannered  with  white  and  Alexander 
of  Russia  took  up  his  quarters  in  the  Palais  de  Bourbon, 
leaving  the  Rue  Saint-Florentin  and  the  Hotel  de  I'lnfan- 
tado  in  which  M.  Talleyrand,  delighted  to  take  one  oath 
more,  had  offered  him  a  costly  hospitality. 

In  those  days  Juliana  de  Wietinghoff,  otherwise  named 
Madame  de  Krudner  was,  (as  who  does  not  know  ?)  the 
Agnes-Egeria  of  Alexander,  and,  after  having  inspired  him 
in  the  camp  of  the  Plain  of  Virtues,  she  doubtless  came  to 
evangelize  at  his  side  in  the  halls  of  the  Elysee.     She  had 


374  PARIS 

most  probably  passed  through  them  on  her  first  journey  to 
Paris  when  she  wrote  the  romance  of  her  life  and  when 
M.  Michaud  was  her  shepherd,  a  shepherd  in  whom  there 
was  nothing  pastoral  but  the  name !  Then  the  Elysee 
was  the  Hamlet  of  Chantilly :  the  scenes  that  occurred 
there  were  scarcely  mystical,  and  ill-befitted  the  nature  of 
Madame  de  Krudner,  that  seraph  full  of  sins.  And  yet  in 
1815  she  must  have  regretted  the  Hamlet  of  Chantilly  and 
its  pomps,  for  that  was  to  regret  her  lost  youth,  the  spring- 
tide evenings  when  she  placed  upon  her  blonde  tresses 
those  mauve  garlands  that  only  suited  Valerie  !  That  was 
to  regret  the  magic  exercised  not  upon  the  mind  of  an 
emperor  with  the  aid  of  a  political  Utopia,  but  worked  by 
the  aid  of  a  pair  of  beautiful  eyes  upon  the  hearts  of  those 
courtiers  of  Beauty,  M.  Michaud  and  M.  Alexander  de 
Stackieff.  O  Elysee  !  O  shelter  of  all  the  decadences  ! 
You  had  seen  Madame  de  Pompadour  sad,  M.  de  Beaujon 
weary,  and  the  Sparta  of  '93  turning  to  the  Paphos  of  '98  : 
you  had  seen  Napoleon  vanquished  !  It  was  left  for  you 
to  see  the  despair  of  a  romantic  coquette  who  was  growing 
old! 

Madame  de  Krudner  did  not  long  sigh  the  elegy  of  her 
fled  youth  in  the  chambers  of  the  Elysee  in  which  the 
emperor  had  wept  over  the  lost  throne  of  the  universe. 
Alexander  took  the  road  for  St.  Petersburg,  and  the  £lysee 
came  into  the  hands  of  the  Duke  of  Berry,  not,  however, 
without  having  been  traversed  for  a  few  weeks  by  the 
cavalier  steps  of  that  Lovelace  general.  Sir  Arthur  Welles- 


THE  ELYSEE  375 

ley,  Duke  of  Wellington.  Is  it  necessary  to  recall  that 
the  Duke  of  Berry  paid  his  tribute  to  the  evil  fortunes  of 
the  place.  In  vain  (and  here  it  is  M.  de  Chateaubriand 
that  speaks)  "  Son  of  Saint-Louis,  last  scion  of  the  ancient 
branch,  he  escaped  from  the  crosses  of  a  long  exile  and 
returned  to  his  country  ;  he  began  to  taste  happiness,  he 
flattered  himself  that  he  was  beginning  life  anew  and  at 
the  same  time  seeing  the  monarchy  born  again  in  the  in- 
fants that  God  promised ;  all  at  once  he  is  struck  in  the 
midst  of  his  hopes,  almost  in  the  arms  of  his  wife  !  The 
sinister  drama  of  February  13th,  1820,  that  regicidal  scene 
that  came  with  so  terrible  a  denouncement  to  close  the  joy- 
ous fairy  scenes  of  a  fashionable  ballet,  was  played  at  the 
Opera;  but  it  was  at  the  Elysee  that  the  counter  blow 
of  Louvel's  work  sounded  so  heavily.  From  there  the 
prince  had  set  out  full  of  life ;  he  returned  thither  a  bleed- 
ing corpse  for  the  despair  of  his  Caroline  and  for  the 
eternal  grief  of  what  was  yet  unborn.  There,  seven 
months  after  the  fulfillment  of  this  destiny,  the  Duke  of 
Bordeaux  came  into  the  world,  condemned  in  advance  to 
that  bitter  chalice  that  all  the  sons  of  a  king  must  empty 
in  turn,  and  that  night  did  not  the  little  red  man  of  the 
Elysee  keep  vigil,  prophesying  over  that  cradle  the  lugubri- 
ous oracles  that  he  had  doubtless  cast  over  those  infants 
sacred  and  stricken  before  this  new  arrival, — Louis  de 
Bourbon,  King  of  the  Temple,  and  Napoleon  II.,  King 
of  Rome  ? 

The  Duchess  of  Berry  did   not  leave  this  palace  :  she 


376  PARIS 

wished  in  accordance  with  the  apostle  that  grace  should 
abound  where  even  fatality  had  abounded.  Until  1830, 
Marie-Caroline  in  her  Elysee  was  the  true  queen  of 
the  land  of  France,  a  daughter  of  Henri  IV.,  she  has  been 
called,  who,  by  her  love  of  the  arts,  made  herself  a  daughter 
of  Francis  I.  If  she  went  out  of  this  retreat  whither  she 
attracted  all  the  Muses,  it  was  to  go  to  the  Salon,  or  the 
Opera,  or  the  Gymnase  to  stimulate,  with  a  tear  or  a  smile, 
the  fertile  zeal  of  her  favourite  artists  Horace  Vernet,  Rossini, 
or  Scribe.  .  .  .  After  these  excursions  in  search  of  pic- 
tures, poems  or  operas  destined  to  solace  her  regrets,  she 
returned  to  her  Elysee  to  give  the  signal  for  those  ptes 
that  were  never  conducted  without  romantic  pomp  or  art ; 
the  Avenue  de  Marigny  glittered,  carriages  choked  all  the 
approaches,  and  within  the  mistress  of  the  house  with  her 
doubly  royal  affability  received  the  most  refined  society 
perhaps  that  could  be  brought  together  under  princely  aus- 
pices since  the  apotheses  of  the  Roi-Soleil !  Alas  !  in  one 
of  these  tourneys  of  elegance  in  which  Madame  de  Berry 
entertained  Paris,  she  amused  herself  in  wearing  for  a  whole 
night  the  brilliant  costume  of  Mary  Stuart.  She  was  to 
know  to  the  very  depths  this  role  that  had  pleased  her 
melancholy  fancy.  O  illustrious  captive  of  Blaye !  O 
Marie-Caroline-Ferdinand  of  Sicily,  it  is  again  your  lawyer 
M.  de  Chateaubriand  who  I  am  going  to  ask  for  all  your 
titles,  widow  of  Berry,  niece  of  the  late  Marie  Antoinette 
of  Austria,  widow  Capet. 

After   1830  the  history  of  the  Elysee  halts  for  eighteen 


THE  ELYSEE  377 

years;  the  building  belongs  to  the  civil  list  and  let  the 
civil  list  dispose  of  it  as  it  will,  it  matters  little  to  us  who 
have  been  the  masters  of  ceremony  of  all  these  famous 
hosts  and  adored  hostesses.  After  the  Comte  d'Evreux, 
and  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  the  financier  Beaujon, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Bourbon,  and  the  Goddess  of  Reason, 
and  Murat,  King  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  and  Napoleon  King 
of  the  world,  and  Alexander  of  Russia,  scourge  of  Na- 
poleon in  the  hands  of  Proviucnce,  and  after  the  Duchess 
of  Berry  I  do  not  care  to  paint  silhouettes  that  are  not 
faces. 

The  revolution  of  1848  opened  the  closed  doors  of  the 
Elysee  with  a  great  noise.  During  the  first  dangers  of 
February,  the  commission  of  patriotic  grants  held  its  sit- 
tings there ;  then,  when  the  will  of  the  nation  had  called 
to  power  him  who  was  to  reconstitute  the  country  or 
rather  to  create  a  new  France,  Prince  Louis-Napoleon 
came  to  dwell  in  the  Elysee  and  gain  inspiration  there  from 
the  counsels  left  throughout  these  eloquent  walls  by  One 
who  did  not  all  die  on  May  5,  1821.  In  1849,  ^^^  '^^^- 
ing  the  two  following  years,  the  prince  reanimated  its 
sleeping  echoes.  The  soirees  of  the  Elysee  were  like  a 
universal  predestined  country  wherein  those  learned  to 
judge  and  love  each  other  who  were  to  serve  in  every  order 
of  activity  and  thought  the  great  designs  of  the  emperor 
of  peace. 


ARC  DE  TRIOMPHE  AND  CHAMPS 
JSLYSEES 

EDOUJRD    FOURNIER 

THERE  is  no  city  in  the  world  that  can  boast  of  an 
entrance  comparable  for  majesty  and  grandeur  to 
that  which  Paris  presents  when  we  enter  by  the 
barriere  de  V Etoile.  No  city  ever  announced  herself  better, 
nor  promised  so  well  at  the  outset  what  she  would  keep 
later  on  in  variety  of  aspect,  extent  and  animation  of  view 
and  monumental  splendour.  The  Arc  de  Trmnphe  de  la 
Grande- Annee^  for  that  is  its  real  name,  is,  doubtless,  the 
grandest  homage  to  martial  glory.  Thus  considered,  this 
monument  is  striking  and  imposing  ;  but,  if  one  examines  it 
from  its  proper  point  of  view,  that  is  to  say  as  the  entrance 
to  Paris,  and,  forgive  this  entirely  architectural  word,  as  the 
frontispiece  of  the  enormous  city,  we  should  perhaps  have 
to  admire  it  still  more. 

What  is  strange  is  that  this  structure,  which  owes  its 
most  incontestable  beauty  to  the  unity  of  the  whole  and  the 
learned  art  with  which  the  proportions  of  the  mass  have 
been  arranged,  has  suffered,  during  the  long  and  varied 
phases  of  its  construction,  all  the  vicissitudes  which  should 
put  confusion  into  its  monumental  disposition  and  substitute 
the   most  contrary  defects   for  the  merits  that  we  recognize 

in  it.      Hesitation  in  adoption  of  the  plans,  disputes  between 

378 


ARC  DE  TRIOMPHE  379 

the  architects,  (for  they  had  at  the  outset  the  unhappy  idea 
of  nominating  two,  Raymond  and  Chalgrin,  for  this  single 
structure)  changes  in  the  directorate,  interruptions  of  the 
work,  in  a  word,  from  the  first  of  Frimaire  Year  VI.,  the 
date  of  the  first  project,  until  July  29,  1836,  when  it  was 
inaugurated,  no  vicissitude  was  lacking. 

There  were  variations  and  hesitations  even  in  the  name, 
which  augured  ill  for  the  rest.  First  in  Year  VI.,  when  the 
first  idea  of  a  triumphal  arch  arose,  it  was  to  have  been 
erected  in  memory  of  the  victories  gained  by  our  soldiers 
beyond  the  Alps.  It  was  planned  to  build  it  at  the  barriere 
d'ltalie.  In  i8o6,  according  to  a  note  dictated  by  the 
emperor,  the  monument  was  to  be  called  the  Arc  de 
Marengo.  Its  site  was  then  marked  as  the  large  space  left 
empty  by  the  demolition  of  the  Bastille.  The  project  was 
submitted  to  the  Academic  des  Beaux  Arts  which  only 
found  fault  with  the  spot  selected.  The  emperor  recog- 
nized the  justice  of  the  criticism  and  finally  adopted  the 
summit  of  the  little  mount  that  so  happily  dominates  the 
great  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees. 

Once  the  idea  was  adopted,  the  works  began  with  ardour  ; 
it  could  be  seen  that  the  emperor  had  given  orders.  Ray- 
mond and  Chalgrin  constantly  disputed  over  the  plan  to  be 
followed,  but  the  master  had  spoken  and  the  work  was 
pushed  without  waiting  for  these  gentlemen  to  agree.  To 
put  an  end  to  the  annoying  discord,  Raymond  resigned  and 
thus  left  the  field  free  to  Chalgrin  whose  plan  (which  has 
been   almost  entirely  followed)  was  moreover  far  preferable 


380  PARIS 

to  his  own.  Chalgrin  was  unhappy  enough  not  to  finish 
his  work:  he  died  January  20,  1811.  The  building  had 
only  reached  the  cornice  of  the  pedestal.  As  you  see, 
ardour  had  soon  cooled ;  or  rather  let  us  say  that  money 
had  soon  failed.  What  was  destined  for  the  monument  to 
old  victories  had  been  eaten  up  by  new  ones.  M.  Goust 
was  no  luckier  than  Chalgrin  whom  he  succeeded.  Defeats 
came  and  the  triumphal  arch  suffered  like  the  rest,  more 
even. 

The  Restoration  left  it  alone  for  nine  years.  In  1823, 
the  expedition  to  Spain  and  capture  of  the  Trocadero  sud- 
denly brought  the  government's  thoughts  back  to  this 
youthful  ruin  forgotten  upon  the  heights  of  L'Etoile. 
The  project  was  again  taken  up  to  be  completed  for  the 
new  triumphator^  the  Due  d'Angouleme.  A  royal  ordi- 
nance was  given  and  an  architect  was  named.  This  was 
M.  Huyot,  and  the  building,  brusquely  arrested  at  the  birth 
of  the  great  arch,  was  henceforth  to  proceed  without  inter- 
ruption. 

The  Revolution  of  July  altered  the  destination  of  the 
monument  that  was  devoted  to  the  glories  of  the  Grand 
Army,  but  left  M.  Huyot  in  office.  In  July,  1833,  he  had 
carried  the  construction  up  to  the  great  entablature  and  was 
laying  the  first  stones  of  the  attic  when  he  was  disgraced. 
M.  Blouet  succeeded  him.  To  the  latter  fell  the  honour  of 
completing  this  great  work,  which  he  did  while  remaining 
almost  entirely  faithful  to  the  plans  of  his  predecessor. 

In    1836,  the    Arc    de   Triomphe    was  finished.     As  a 


ARC  DE  TRIOMPHE  381 

whole,  harmonious  in  proportions,  it  is  an  ahnost  irre- 
proachable monument.  With  its  colossal  arch  measuring 
twenty-eight  metres  in  height  and  fourteen  in  breadth ;  with 
that  long  sequence  of  incrusted  shields  on  its  attic,  each 
bearing  the  name  of  a  great  victory  ;  that  line  of  soldiers 
defiling  around  the  frieze,  giants  that  look  like  pygmies 
from  the  base ;  those  bas-reliefs  that  decorate  each  face, 
some  of  which  are  works  of  the  first  order,  (such  as  that  by 
Feucheres,  who  makes  the  Passage  of  the  Bridge  of  Areola 
live  again  in  stone  ;  that  by  Chaponnieres  which  makes  us 
take  part  in  the  Capture  of  Alexandria),  that  harmoni- 
ous whole  of  glorious  ornamentation  is  still  heightened  and 
increased  by  the  four  gigantic  trophies  placed  upon  the 
piers.  Those  facing  the  Avenue  de  Neuilly,  Peace  and 
Resistance,  come  from  the  vigorous  hands  of  d'Etex ;  and 
those  fronting  the  Champs  Elysees  due,  one,  the  Corona- 
tion of  the  Emperor,  to  the  solemnly  calm  and  academic 
talent  of  Cortot ;  the  other,  the  Departure,  to  the  chisel  of 
Rude,  which  never  possessed  more  ardour,  fire,  nor  energy. 
There  are  few  nations  that  could  have  found  in  their 
treasuries  the  ten  millions  paid  for  this  glorious  jewel ;  and 
much  fewer  still  that  could  have  recruited  among  their 
artists  sufficient  talent  for  this  great  sculptural  and  architec- 
tural task ;  but  certainly  there  is  not  one  that  in  a  single 
page  of  its  history  could  at  the  same  time  have  found  so 
many  triumphs  and  those  three  hundred  and  eighty-six 
names  of  victorious  generals  that  blaze  upon  those  walls,  as 
on  the  tables  of  the  Temple  of  Glory. 


382  PARIS 

From  the  foot  of  the  monument,  when  we  turn  our  eyes 
toward  the  city,  the  view  is  most  magnificent.  That  wide 
rise  with  a  gentle  slope  that  the  ever-delighted  gaze  de- 
scends to  the  level,  circular  space;  that  vast  avenue  that  on 
starting  thence  spreads  its  wings  and  assumes  the  propor- 
tions of  a  leafy  wood  the  verdure  of  which  is  almost  con- 
founded with  that  of  the  trees  of  the  Tuileries ;  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde  that  looks  from  afar  like  a  broad  and  white 
clearing  in  broad  sunlight  between  two  neighbouring  parks; 
in  the  background,  the  monumental  line  of  the  Tuileries 
buildings  against  which  stands  out  in  silhouette  the  obelisk 
that  cuts  without  breaking  it;  to  complete  this  grand  pic- 
ture, everywhere  are  houses,  hotels  and  palaces ;  and,  to 
give  animation  to  it,  everywhere  is  movement,  noise,  lines 
of  pedestrians,  cavalcades  and  carriages  going  and  coming 
in  hundreds  :  the  entire  effect  is  truly  prodigious. 

Louis  XIV.  comprehended  that  Paris,  thus  bounded, 
possessed  majesty  and  grandeur,  and  in  1670  he  thought  of 
at  last  levelling  this  vast  peristyle  of  verdure.  By  his 
orders,  the  marshes  were  extensively  drained  ;  the  Rue  de 
Chaillot  was  sharply  cut  at  the  height  which  it  has  not 
since  passed ;  three  fine  alleys  of  elms  were  planted,  and 
greenswards  were  laid  down  among  the  clumps.  The 
roads  that  led  to  the  Roule,  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honore, 
and  Chaillot,  became  so  many  fine  avenues  radiating  from 
that  circular  space  that  we  call  the  rond-point^  and  which 
then  came  to  be  called  the  Place  de  VEtoile.  Even  in  1764 
the   Champs-Elysees    did    not   extend    beyond   the  Rue  de 


ARC  DE  TRIOMPHE  383 

Chaillot.     Starting  at  the  rond-point  they  already  began  to 
shrink  into  a  single  avenue. 

The  Due  d'Antin,  superintendent  of  the  royal  buildings, 
had  work  done  on  the  immense  promenade.     He  occupied 
himself  with  making  it  healthy  rather  than  beautiful.      He 
also  planted  the  avenue  with  trees,  in  memory  of  which  he 
has  been  made  its  godfather.      He  also  renewed  the  planta- 
tion of  the  Cours  la  Reine.     Of  all  the  roads,  this  was  the 
one  that  had  always  been  the  most  frequented.     In  1628, 
Queen  Marie  de  Medicis,  who  was  very  fond  of  this  long 
walk,  had  had  it  planted  with  trees  and  closed  at  each  end 
with  an  iron  railing.     All  the  fashionable  world  that  owned 
carriages,  the  only  people  to  whom  this  species  of  reserved 
park  was  open,  thronged  thither  at  certain  hours.     It  was 
a  vogue  that  lasted   nearly  two  centuries,  in  fact  until  the 
Champs-Elysees,  which  at  first  were  only  called  the  Grand 
Cours  to  distinguish  them  from  the  other  smaller  one,  had 
in  their  turn  become  the  fashion.     It  had  to  wait  till  1776 
before  the  public  tired  of  its  fancy  and  at  last  turned  from 
the  Petit  into  the  Grand  Cours.     On  September  17,  in  that 
year,  the  Memoires  secrets  decided  to  say  a  good  word  for 
the  Champs-£lysees,  which  "  are  very  fine  and  begin  to 
attract  the  public."     There  they  are  now  consecrated  by 
the  crowd,  fashion  is  about  to  come  and  will  not  again  de- 
sert them.     Their  revenge  on  the  long  vogue  of  Cours  la 
Reine  began  then  and  still  lasts.      Under  the  Restoration, 
vain  attempts  were  made  to  restore  a  little  life  to  the  latter 
by  building  a  new  quarter  in   its  \'icinity,  in  the  midst  of 


384  PARIS 

which  was  set  like  a  stray  pearl  that  marvellous  Maison  de 
Francois  I. 

The  alley  close  by  was  for  a  long  time  the  most  melan- 
choly of  all  the  walks.  Widows,  whom  ancient  etiquette 
would  not  allow  to  show  themselves  in  public  during  the 
period  of  their  mourning,  found  only  this  spot  in  which  to 
take  a  little  air  without  letting  themselves  be  seen.  The 
name,  All'ee  des  Veuves^  clung  to  it,  and,  deserted  and  soli- 
tary, it  was  long  before  it  gave  the  lie  to  sadness.  To-day 
the  name  is  changed,  the  alley  is  called  the  Avenue  Mon- 
taigne^ and  its  appearance  has  changed  much  more  still. 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE 

JRSkNE  HOUSSATE 

THIS  is  a  fairy  tale,  a  mythological  story  !     What 
Undine  has  made  these  cascades  spout ;   for  what 
Alcinous  has  Minerva  planted  the  regular  trees 
of  these  avenues  i' 

In  old  days,  before  Queen  Bertha,  when  Paris  was  only 
a  straggling  village,  a  mass  of  thatched  roofs,  ill  reduced  to 
order  by  barbarians,  Paris  clasped  a  belt  of  marshy  forests 
around  her  walls  built  of  mud  and  gravel.  The  belt  has 
been  gradually  loosened,  each  epoch  taking  away  a  link, 
every  king  substituting  a  faubourg  for  a  copse,  a  quarter  for 
a  growth  of  brushwood.  Of  the  belt  there  remains  now 
at  most  two  fragments,  embroidered  anew  by  the  curious 
zeal  of  modern  caprice  :  I  mean  the  Bois  de  Vincennes  and 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  But  who  would  imagine  that  in  this 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  frequented  to-day  by  handsome  couples 
and  highly  civilized  beings,  the  sons  of  Chilperic  and 
Theoderic  passed,  flourishing  their  frameas^  and  keeping  a 
sharp  lookout  for  the  nest  of  vipers  in  the  high  grasses  ? 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Eighth  Century,  Saint  Cloud  was 
still  called  Nogent,  the  forest  was  called  the  wood  of  Rou- 
veret,  and  the  monks  of  Saint-Denis  had  the  right  of  cut- 
ting wood  from  these  high  trees  •,  but  not  for  the  monks  of 
that   abbey  was   it  reserved   to   transform  Rouveret  and  to 

385 


386  PARIS 

leave  an  enduring  trace  upon  it  for  the  future.  Boulogne- 
sur-Mer,  that  sanitarium  for  chlorotics  and  lovers,  where 
now  come  to  seek  repose  or  death  the  sailors  who  have 
voyaged  too  long  and  the  poets  who  want  to  listen  to  the 
ocean  billows  elsewhere  than  in  Homer's  hexameters,  Bou- 
logne-sur-Mer  beneath  the  first  suns  of  the  Fourteenth  Cen- 
tury was  growing  proud  through  her  Notre-Dame  so  wor- 
shipped and  privileged  on  account  of  a  hundred  miracles. 
Therefore  the  pilgrims  streamed  toward  the  riparian  city 
of  the  ocean.  But  for  the  devotees  of  all  the  religions  a 
Jerusalem  within  reach  is  needed  :  Andromache  in  exile  im- 
provises a  diminutive  Pergamos ;  the  melancholiacs  of  fifty 
years  ago  built  a  cenotaph  to  Werther  amid  the  labyrinths 
of  their  English  gardens.  And  that  is  how  the  pious  trav- 
ellers who  returned  from  Boulogne-sur-Mer,  envious  to 
practice  in  Paris  the  rites  learned  in  this  somewhat  remote 
sanctuary,  asked  King  Philip  V.  to  legalize  the  brotherhood 
of  the  Boulonnais  and,  with  large  supplies  of  doubloons 
and  rose  crowns,  constructed  a  church  in  the  thickest  part 
of  the  wood  of  Rouveret,  which,  being  felled  and  cleared, 
soon  became  a  village,  Boulogne-sur-Seine. 

Happily  for  future  Paris,  Rouveret,  having  changed 
its  name  and  become  the  sacristy  of  the  catechumens  of 
Boulogne,  at  least  preserved  its  trees,  long-bearded  like  kings 
of  the  Prankish  race,  its  trees  of  abundant  sap  to  which  it 
had  owed  its  first  name — {Robur — the  Gallic  oak).  If  the 
bishop  of  Paris,  Foulques  de  Chanac,  consecrated  the  altars 
of  the  virgin  of  Boulogne  in  1363,  Olivier  le  Dain  had  al- 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE         387 

ready  been  set  over  the  warren  of  Rouveret  in  those  days 
then  recent  when  king's  barbers  usurped  over  the  persons 
of  their  sublime  clients  the  authority  first  allotted  to  the 
monks  and  wandering  knights  of  Notre-Dame.  This  wood 
of  Boulogne,  half  cathedral,  half  warren,  soon  sheltered 
castles  where  indolent  monarchs  reposed  after  an  hour  of 
business  or  of  the  chase.  Moreover,  even  before  the  kings, 
the  ladies  of  the  royal  blood  had  formed  there  a  retreat  from 
the  treasons  of  the  court  an  J  the  falsehoods  of  passion. 
Since  Saint  Radegonde  who,  in  her  cloister,  shared  her  sweet- 
meats and  her  spiritual  knowledge  with  the  grammarian- 
poet  Fortunat,  our  French  princesses  have  had  a  taste  for 
these  semi-solitudes,  peopled  by  God  and  his  ministers.  Ask 
the  Abbesses  of  Fontevrault  and  Chelles,  seek  information 
from  the  Duchess  of  Longueville  !  In  this  chronology  of 
patrician  Catholics,  heroines  of  Very  Christian  France,  the 
sister  of  Saint-Louis  has  recorded  a  date  that  relates  to  the 
splendours  of  our  wood  of  Boulogne  ;  it  was  there,  in  fact, 
that  Isabelle  of  France  in  1209  rendered  to  the  Lord  her 
ecstatic  and  languishing  soul  in  the  friendly  cells  of  that 
abbey  of  Longchamps,  solong  famous,  so  long  placed  under 
the  invocations  of  crowned  female  sinners,  so  long  dedicated 
to  the  leisure  of  repentant  singers  who  to  efface  the  profane 
impression  of  ariettas  from  Armide  or  Eurydice^  drew  the 
whole  of  Paris  to  the  chapel  where  they  sighed  the  anthem 
of  an  eternal  Gloria  in  excelsis. 

Isabelle  of  France  was  the  first  to  enfeoff  the  shadows  of 
Boulogne   in   the  private   domain  of  the   monarchy,  using 


388  PARIS 

it  as  the  secret  refuge  of  her  pathetic  melancholy.  But 
Madrid,  Bagatelle,  and  La  Muette  remain  a  triple  and 
splendid  revenge  of  the  kings  who  would  not  consent  that 
their  wood  of  Boulogne  should  be  only  the  purgatory  or 
even  the  paradise  in  anticipation  of  the  mystic  beauties  of 
their  families. 

Madrid  !  At  that  name  I  already  inhale  the  most  in- 
toxicating perfumes  of  the  flower  of  the  Valois  and  Bourbons. 
Francis  I.  reentered  his  Paris  after  the  misfortune  of  Pavia 
and  the  harsh  ennui  of  a  forced  sojourn  in  Spain.  The 
glorious  freed  captive  wanted  to  give  this  name  Madrid  to 
a  monument  erected  in  honour  of  his  reconquered  liberty. 
Philibert  Delorme  took  the  square  and  trowel  in  hand, 
Bernard  de  Palissy  had  the  most  brilliant  and  solid  enamels 
fired  for  the  decoration  of  the  facade  of  the  richest  and 
most  elegant  castle  of  our  French  Renaissance.  O  perpetual 
ptes  in  that  Chambord  situated  a  few  thousand  steps  from 
the  Louvre  !  Luxurious  feasts,  strange  masquerades,  bold 
and  pedantic  talk,  frank  repasts  of  Greek  and  Italian,  duels 
of  erudition  and  poetry,  duels  also  of  courteous  braggarts 
nevertheless  !  To  write  the  journal  of  Madrid  under  Francis 
I.,  I  should  have  to  be  either  Rabelais  or  Michelet !  To  as- 
sort these  nuances^  to  risk  these  contrasts,  to  paint  and 
carve  in  relief  this  incomparable  group,  the  over-robust 
Louisa  of  Savoy  and  the  sickly,  first  of  the  Margots,  and 
Madame  Diana,  and  Anne  de  Pisseleu,  and  also  the  little 
Florentine  who  will  be  Catherine  de  Medicis,  I  should  have 
need    of  the  counsel  of  da  Vinci   and   Jean   Goujean,   of 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE         389 

Germain  Pilon  and  Prematice  !  Who  then  among  the 
pasticbeurs  of  these  times  would  succeed  in  framing  within 
this  efflorescent  architecture  the  romance  of  Henri  II.  and 
the  Countess  of  Poitiers,  that  lady  who  for  so  many  years 
recommenced  the  education  of  a  crowned  Jehan  de  Saintre  ? 
Who  would  venture  to  divine  the  thoughts  of  Charles  II., 
that  savage  and  gentle  youth,  an  epileptic  and  a  sayer  of 
good  things  during  the  weeks  when  he  retired  to  Madrid, 
thinking  more  of  the  piercing  glances  of  Marie  Touchet 
than  of  his  mother's  projects ;  caring  less  about  the  preten- 
sions of  Henry  of  Bourbon  to  the  throne  of  France  than  he 
was  moved  by  the  marvellous  rhymes  of  his  rival  in  the 
art  of  versifying,  Ronsard,  the  gentleman  from  Vendome  ! 
What  Lycophron,  a  searcher  after  assonances  and  onomat- 
opoeia, would  dare  to  make  the  tigers  and  little  dogs,  in- 
stalled by  Henri  III.  in  his  Madrid  menagerie,  roar,  mew 
and  yelp  in  his  lines  ?  Lastly,  who  would  venture  to  open 
the  cabinet  in  which  the  second  of  the  Margots,  dowered 
with  the  Madrid  by  the  munificence  of  her  husband,  Henri 
IV.,  first  imbalmed  the  ever-dear  memories  of  her  first  at- 
tachment, and  later,  full  of  shame,  became  enraged  when 
the  ignominy  of  a  fatal  divorce  struck  her  ?  It  is  Marguerite 
of  Valois,  it  is  that  majesty  of  the  Renaissance  who  ends 
the  chronicles  of  the  castle  of  Madrid.  The  Pompeii  of 
the  Valois,  there  was  no  further  use  for  it  when  that  val- 
orous, criminal,  and  charming  race  became  extinct.  In  the 
middle  of  the  Seventeenth  Century,  when  Louis  XIV.  broke 
with    all  the   traditions   of  the  past  and  set  royalty  in  Ver- 


390  PARIS 

sallies,  weavers  established  their  looms  where  Apollos  had 
hummed  their  little  odes.  A  stocking-factory  in  the  castle 
of  Madrid  !  Ah  !  Ruin  would  have  been  better  than  such  a 
changed  estate  !  That  invisible  and  assiduous  spirit  that 
protects  the  fortresses  of  heroes  and  the  villas  of  beautiful 
women  deserted  the  outraged  pavilions.  The  moss  soon 
crept  over  these  stones  whose  echoes  now  only  repeated  the 
monotonous  sound  of  the  shuttle.  The  Alcinas  of  Lucien 
and  of  Choisy-le-Roi  did  not  think  of  defending  against 
time  and  oblivion  these  walls,  eloquent  witnesses  that  glori- 
fied the  Alcinas  of  the  past.  Louis  XVI.  arrived,  an  alto- 
gether provisional  Adam  of  a  terrestrial  paradise  of  Gess- 
ner's  style.  Only  on  reading  in  his  history  of  France  ex- 
purgated ad  usum  delphinorum  a  few  anecdotes  touching  the 
Madrid  of  Henri  III.,  he  would  have  crossed  himself 
twice.  Perhaps,  when  walking  among  thickets  of  the  wood 
of  Boulogne,  he  assisted  at  a  Sabbat  of  the  resuscitated, 
presided  over  by  Margot  or  Diana.  However  that  may  be, 
one  day  he  ordered  his  workmen  to  pull  down  Madrid  and 
its  adjoining  buildings.  I  do  not  know  why  he  stopped 
short  of  having  potatoes  sown  there,  for  the  greater  profit 
,  of  morality.  To-day  Madrid  has  been  rebuilt ;  but  alas  ! 
they  were  not  our  Philippe  Delormes  who  had  charge 
of  the  work.  The  hasty  and  economical  architects  have 
finished  their  palace  with  plaster  and  white  wood  !  Now 
Madrid  in  the  wine  shop  of  the  demi-monde  and  of  the  "  quart 
de  monde  /  "  .  .  .  So  do  not  return  to  the  earth,  ex- 
tinct Valois,  courtiers  and    mistresses  of  Valois  now  disap- 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE         391 

peared ;  these  orgies  at  a  fixed  sum  celebrated  daily  upon 
this  tomb  of  splendours  would  frighten  you  more  than  the 
supreme  accident  of  '93  frightened  the  last  of  the  Bour- 
bons ! 

Neither  Bagatelle  nor  La  Muette  can  number  so  many 
periods  in  their  history.  Bagatelle,  or,  if  you  prefer,  the 
Folie  d'Artois,  villa  and  villula  begun  and  finished  in  sixty- 
four  days,  was  the  secret  Tivoli  of  the  handsome  Charles^ 
Count  of  Arto'is^  when  La  Duthe  and  Mme.  de  Polastron 
answered  his  amorous  dissertations,  when  the  children  of 
France  had  not  yet  studied  in  their  geographical  dictionary 
these  articles  of  sinister  interest :  Hartwell,  Ghent,  Prague 
and  Goritz  !  The  Revolution,  that  bacchante  that  was 
ever  intoxicated,  it  mattered  little  with  what  wine,  did  with 
the  Bagatelle  as  it  did  with  the  Elysee  and  the  Pavilion  de 
Hanovre  :  the  fiddles  of  a  public  ball  executed  their  most 
excruciating  tones  there  ;  there  people  danced  "  a  la  grecque" 
and  "  a  la  romaine"  as  erewhile  they  danced  "  a  la 
Fran^aise  "  in  the  Rampannean  garden  !  When  the  Count 
of  Artois  reentered  this  theatre  of  his  earliest  follies,  con- 
verted thenceforward  and  no  longer  thinking  of  Mme.  de 
Polastron  except  to  humiliate  himself  the  more  at  the  knees 
of  Cardinal  de  Latil,  was  he  not  scared  by  the  shades  of 
the  impure  Giselles  of  the  Directoire  ?  Even  when  he  be- 
came king,  he  granted  Bagatelle  to  his  grandson,  doubtless 
in  order  that  this  innocence  of  the  Joash  of  the  Bourbons 
should  efface  the  trace  of  these  impieties  of  the  populace. 
The    Duke   of  Bordeaux,   in  spring,  came  to  this  castle  of 


392  PARIS 

Prince  Charming,  conducted  by  his  smiling  mother.  And, 
if  I  wanted  again  to  seek  in  this  name  Bagatelle  a  motive 
for  too  easy  amplifications,  I  should  have  to  begin  again  for 
the  tenth  time  this  elegy  so  often  breathed  in  sighs  :  "  The 
son  and  the  mother ! "  A  tearful  complaint,  fortune  de- 
stroyed, and  exile  !  Marie  Louise  and  Napoleon  II.!  Marie- 
Caroline  and  the  Duke  of  Bordeaux !  Valentine  and 
Charles  of  Orleans  ! — Ever,  ever  Andromache  and  the  son 
of  Hector ! 

At  La  Muette,  the  genius  of  the  place  is  Philippe  d'Or- 
leans,  regent  of  France.  The  castle  was  embellished  by 
the  daughter  of  his  adoration.  It  was  at  La  Muette  that 
the  Duchess  of  Berry,  careless  of  the  bleeding  epigrams  of 
the  youthful  Voltaire,  indifferent  to  the  rage  of  her  mother 
and  the  remonstrances  of  her  grandmother,  sported  accord- 
ing to  her  own  fancy  and  remained  faithful  to  the  wine  of 
Burgundy  even  more  than  to  Lauzun's  nephew !  It  was 
also  at  La  Muette  that  she  expired  at  twenty-seven  years 
of  age,  violent  and  romantic  even  in  the  terrible  agony  that 
preceded  her  mysterious  death.  When  Lauzun's  nephew 
was  informed  that  he  had  lost  this  guardian  of  his  fortune 
and  divinity  of  his  heart,  for  all  de  profundis  he  restricted 
himself  to  humming  an  old  song  ending  with  this  refrain 
of  every  human  passion  :  "  We  mustn't  say  any  more  about 
it !  "  Let  us  behave  toward  La  Muette  as  M.  de  Riom 
did  toward  the  Duchess  of  Berry.  After  17 19  we  must 
not  say  any  more  about  it :  its  splendours  are  not  distin- 
guished.    Suppose    Louis    XV.,    Louis    XVI.    and    Marie 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE         393 

Antoinette  have  fixed  their  flying  camps  there  ;  suppose,  on 
that  lawn  the  second  of  the  Montgolfiers  has  tried  the  road 
that  leads  to  the  stars ;  suppose  the  nation  has  entertained 
the  nation  in  those  little  apartments  of  royalty ;  suppose  the 
city  of  Paris  has  emptied  the  cellars  of  La  Muette  for  the 
jovial  fellows  of  the  Federation  who  were  so  excited  to  be- 
come such  fine  soldiers  ;  suppose  this  domain,  in  dispute, 
taken  and  retaken,  has  belonged  to  the  State  or  to  the  City, 
to  private  individuals  or  to  the  Crown, — truly,  we  must  not 
say  any  more  about  it  !  It  is  forever  and  for  all  the  royal 
castles  of  France  the  monotonous  story  of  the  same  pleas- 
ures, the  same  griefs,  the  same  mgratitudes.  The  palaces  are 
sceptical  like  ordinary  men  ;  they  accommodate  themselves 
to  all  lodgers,  they  open  their  doors  to  all  the  mighty.  Let 
us  then  pass  quickly  over  the  catastrophes  of  La  Muette ; 
do  not  let  us  even  seek  to  incriminate  it  on  account  of  its 
last  travesty.  This  castle  in  which  the  regent's  daughter 
sinned  for  pleasure,  is  now  a  sanitarium ;  nurses  take  the 
place  of  butlers.  Why  should  we  grow  indignant  over  it 
since  not  a  single  tear  has  moistened  the  marble  eyes  of  the 
Cupids  in  the  groves  ? 

Among  so  many  decadences,  in  the  wood  of  Boulogne, 
I  know  of  only  one  glory  that  the  years  have  spared : 
Ranelagh.  For  eighty  years  the  violins  have  gathered  un- 
der this  common  roof,  in  the  momentary  intimacy  of  the 
contradanse,  the  grasshoppers  of  Paris  and  the  laborious 
ants  of  Passy.  O  Ranelagh,  you  are  assured  of  existing 
as  long  as  there  is  a  little  world  and  a  bad  world,  as  long 


394  PARIS 

as  caprice  awakes,  even  in  hearts  with  names  of  thirty 
quarterings,  an  unexpected  desire  for  risky  steps  and 
champagne  drunk  under  the  rose  ! 

Let  us  return,  and  it  is  already  almost  too  late,  to  the 
legend  of  the  wood  of  Boulogne  Itself.  Happily  after  the 
last  Valois,  events  are  scarce  in  the  life  of  the  Parisian 
Tempe.  Toward  the  close  of  the  Sixteenth  Century, 
the  makers  of  pastorals  (and  at  that  time  who  did  not  oc- 
cupy himself  with  Lycidas  or  Pierrot  ?)  had  reason  for  grief 
at  the  spectacle  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogue  invaded  by  a  crowd 
of  poor  devils,  deplorable  victims  of  the  civil  war,  starved, 
shivering  with  cold  and  attacking  the  great  trees  with  the 
axe  to  warm  their  suffering  limbs  and  to  cheer  their  disconso- 
late and  terror-stricken  souls  before  great  fires.  Ah  !  if  he 
traversed  that  deadly  forest,  Ronsard  must  have  felt,  raising 
his  eyes  "  ces  larmes  des  chases"  that  made  him  sob  in  such 
admirable  verses  when  he  scourged  the  pitiless  wood-cut- 
ters of  Gastines  ! 

In  the  Seventeenth  Century  under  Louis  XV.,  outside 
the  luncheons  of  La  Muette  and  Bagatelle,  silence  reigns 
as  god  of  the  wood  of  Boulogne.  In  the  years  during 
which  Madrid  fell  into  ruins,  in  the  vicinity  the  withered 
oaks  drooped  their  last  branches  over  the  sod  strewn  with 
dead  leaves.  For  this  epoch,  that  loved  the  pretty  and  the 
small  in  everything,  the  wood  of  Boulogne  like  Versailles 
was  an  embarrassment  and  a  weariness.  The  Trianons  or 
Bellevue,  well  and  good ;  there  are  sweet  little  parks  that 
might  be  enclosed  in  the  crystal  box  of  a  fay  or  a  marquise. 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE  395 

M.  Dorat  may  sing  of  them  without  being  taxed  with 
Anglomania  and  without  seeming  to  love  Nature  with  the 
rabid  bad  taste  of  a  Pennsylvanian  labourer,  or  a  Genevan 
philosopher.  However,  let  us  trust  the  great  sovereigns  to 
bring  back  the  love  of  the  grand  in  all  things  !  Napoleon 
appears  at  the  moment  when  there  is  nothing  but  disaster 
and  sorrow  for  France  as  well  as  for  the  wood  of  Boulogne, 
and  the  forest  profits  by  this  event  almost  as  much  as  the 
nation  itself.  It  is  cleared ;  trees  are  planted  along  the 
roads  that  lead  to  the  favourite  residence  of  the  master, 
Saint-Cloud.  Now  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  will  be  the  Hyde 
Park  of  Paris,  as  thronged  with  people  and  more  suffocat- 
ing. Joyous  cavalcades,  melancholy  pedestrians,  quartettes 
of  duellists  and  duets  of  lovers  ;  millionaires  digesting  a 
protracted  dinner  at  Borel's  and  Bohemians  supping  on 
sunlight  J  dignitaries  on  their  way  to  the  sovereign's  anti- 
chamber  to  request  an  additional  dignity,  and  little  girls 
gathering  early  daisies  amid  the  coppice ;  all  who  need  to 
be  absorbed  in  the  intoxication  of  Nature  or  to  seek  repose 
in  her  maternal  arms ;  all  who,  tied  by  the  foot  by  the  cord 
of  daily  cares,  have  not  the  leisure  to  fly  away  to  those 
radiant  realms  discovered  by  the  golden  divining-rod  of  the 
poets  ;  all  who  pretend  to  place  themselves  under  favour- 
able conditions  to  evoke  Rousseau's  Clarens,  Bernadin's 
Floride,  and  Chateaubriand's  Louisiane ;  all  those,  finally, 
who  take  pleasure  in  the  loungings  of  sedentary  Paris,  or 
who  accommodate  themselves  to  the  vagabond  aspirations  of 
the  Parisian   cosmopolitan,  are  sure  habitues  of  this  rendez- 


396  PARIS 

vous  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  Even  night  does  not  dis- 
miss all  the  company,  and,  on  the  nights  of  an  official  ball, 
while  the  carriages  of  senators  and  marshals,  gilded  and 
rumbling,  roll  toward  Saint-Cloud,  the  noise  of  the  wheels 
often  arouses  from  a  sweet  languor  a  youthful  belated 
couple  who,  upon  the  classic  banks  of  the  lake  of  Auteuil, 
forgot  the  wisdom  of  Moliere  and  the  rhymes  of  Boileau 
for  the  cavatinas  of  the  nightingale  in  union  with  the  sad 
and  touching  solos  of  the  tree-frogs. 

Eternal  contrasts !  Eternal  coincidences  !  This  forest 
favoured  and  made  new  by  Napoleon ;  this  forest,  this  oasis 
of  the  disposer  of  tempests  ;  this  forest  where  the  failing 
Millevoye  had  foreseen  the  fall  of  the  leaves  and  sighed, 
when  1815  startled  the  world,  was  ravaged,  pillaged,  and 
devastated.  There  was  situated  the  camp  of  the  Ajaxes 
of  the  Don  ;  there  by  the  light  of  aged  lindens  smoked  the 
foetid  coppers  of  the  gross  eaters  of  the  land  of  Attila.  O 
devastated  forest  of  Boulogne  !  O  stinking  Walpurgis- 
night  !  Shrill  sabbat  that  weighs  heavily  upon  this  sylvan 
stage  appropriated  by  choice  to  the  harmonious  nights  of 
eclogue ! 

After  18 15  the  trees  grew  again,  the  gaps  were  repaired  : 
the  wood  no  longer  recalled  the  dreadful  encampment  of 
barbarians  ;  but  the  fortifications  had  narrowed  its  circuit  ; 
and,  as  grandeur  was  still  wanting  in  the  Tuileries,  no 
trouble  was  taken  to  give  a  fine  appearance  to  the  city  or 
adornment  to  the  forest.  At  length  Napoleon  III.  brought 
back  order  into   France's  history  and,  fit  appendix  to  the 


THE  BOIS  DE  BOULOGNE  397 

majesty  of  the  new  Paris,  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  completed 
the  series  of  its  metamorphoses.  From  avatar  to  avatar, 
the  forest  has  become  a  goddess. 

M.  Hittorf  and  M.  Vave  were  the  Sylvain  and  the  Pan 
of  this  Fontainebleau  of  our  purlieus.  What  scenery  and 
decorations  !  Mountains,  like  the  rams  of  the  Scriptures, 
spring  out  of  the  flat  soil  of  yesterday  ;  rivers  and  cascades 
spout  forth  and  spread  as  soon  as  a  bed  has  been  cut  to  re- 
ceive them  ;  gondolas  have  lit  their  vari-coloured  lanterns 
on  the  lake.  Are  we  in  Venice  ?  Are  we  in  Nankin  ? 
The  wood  is  as  capricious  in  details  as  the  second  Faust  or 
the  Black  Forest.  It  is  as  regular  as  the  private  garden  of 
a  Grand  Duke.  The  Avenue  de  I'lmperatrice  is  cut  de 
chateaux  a  la  minute^  the  nest  of  our  opulent  doves  !  It  is 
the  Baia  of  the  Parisiennes.  And  thus,  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  is  going  to  help  to  reestablish  in  people's  minds 
that  necessary  quality  in  the  works  of  modern  times, — joy. 
Werther  will  no  longer  dare  to  load  his  pistol  there  j 
Saverny  and  Didier  would  not  have  had  the  heart  to  draw 
there.  But  Diana  of  Poitiers  would  have  loved  there  as 
she  loved  at  Madrid ;  and  Raphael's  Phoebus  would  again 
descend  on  some  silver  midnight  to  inspire  Desportes  with 
a  song  or  Millevoye  with  a  romance. 


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